


Spring Soldier

by WolffyLuna



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), captain america: the winter soldier - Fandom
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Memory Loss, PTSD, Past Brainwashing, Recovery, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-11
Updated: 2014-08-02
Packaged: 2018-01-24 08:16:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1597973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolffyLuna/pseuds/WolffyLuna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finding The Winter Soldier is easy.</p>
<p>But the transition from Soldier to Bucky? Or recovering to the point where he is a vaguely functional human being? That's much harder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Shield, a Shadow, and Some Oatmeal

**Author's Note:**

> Any feedback/critique/inaccuracies pointed out would be much appreciated.

“Face it buddy, he’s long gone.” Sam stared at the road, not looking at Steve.

“How can you be so sure?”

“We’ve looked all over this city, and all countryside around it. He’s either at the bottom of the Potomac, or out of D.C.”

“I saw him drag me onto the bank.” It was blurry, and half remembered, but he saw it. He saw Bucky - or was it the Winter Soldier? -  turn and walk away. Maybe he’d imagined it, the hypoxia getting into his brain, but that didn’t feel right. He saw him, and his eyes had never lied to him before. _Bucky hadn’t drowned._

“Then he’s out of D.C.”

How did you find a super-assassin that could be anywhere in the country? Did you just wait till people started dying, and follow the bodies, hoping some witness got a half glimpse of a metal arm? Did you just sit there until someone lost their life to a ghost story, all while your friend was trapped inside the ghost?

The drive passed in silence. It wasn’t comfortable silence, it was the silence of conversation that had ended with no one happy about it.

Sam parked against the curb of Steve’s apartment building. “I’ll see you tomorrow,”

Steve stepped out. “See you then.”

Sam nodded and drove off.

Steve went straight to the garage. Going to the Smithsonian didn’t make him feel better, it made him feel worse, but it was better than just sitting around, not knowing what to do.

It was the closest he’d get to seeing Bucky for a while, anyway.

***

The Winter Soldier -- Bucky? -- stared at the plaque. Names and dates filled it, vague half snatches of memories spilling off them. Smells he couldn’t place, sounds of things he didn’t remember hearing, faces he didn’t know swirled into his brain.

_James Buchanan Barnes? Am I?_

No, no, he was the Winter Soldier, HYDRA’s greatest asset, the saviour of humanity. Not some soldier who died in the snow years ago.

Even if he could still feel the plunge into the icy river.

Even if he couldn’t remember remembering that.

All through the plaque, all through this mess of an exhibition (no clear mission, no clear path--), sang the refrain of   _Steve, Steve, Stephen, STEVE_. He knew who this man was. He knew how his name rested on his tongue. He recognised him (man on the bridge, his mission), but there was something missing. It was like a word repeated too often, you knew it had meaning, but you couldn’t remember what it was.

There was something he didn’t know. Something deep in his bones told him he was more than a mission, more the man on the bridge who called him Bucky.

(And why did he remember the bridge? He was meant to forget it, he was sure? Though how did he know that he was meant to forget that?)

(Too much was terrifying blankness)

So he stared at the plaque, hoping he’d remember something concrete, something that would prove beyond all doubt that _Yes he was Bucky_ or _no he was not._

***

It was late afternoon when Steve arrived and parked his bike. Most people had left already, and the museum slowly ground its way to closing time.

Steve jogged up the stairs, heading towards the exhibition. Even with so little people, he still wore his hood up and cap on. He didn’t need people asking for autographs. He needed space to remember Bucky. He needed quiet.

The Captain America exhibit was empty apart from the non-stop voices of the recordings. He ignored them, and walked over to the little section devoted to Bucky.

It was always strange going to Bucky’s section. It wasn’t that they’d gotten anything _wrong_ (well, apart from saying he’d died), not really, but it was a perspective Steve never really associated Bucky with.

Bucky wasn’t the little footnote, remarkable only for his death, Bucky was his best friend. Bucky was the one who was with him till the end of the line.

The only other person in the exhibit was also there, staring at the plaque. Steve stood a polite distance away from them and let them read. No point bothering them.

***

The Winter Soldier glanced over to the person standing next to him. Was this... Steve? He quickly looked over at one of the many photographs of Steve littering the room.

This was Steve. Not that he needed to check. He knew the faces of each of his missions better than his own, and there was something deeper about this one that made him want to take a second look.

Little flashes of memory whizzed past his eyes, too quick to catch.

_Steve?_

Steve, so important, but he couldn’t place him properly.

And why did he call him Bucky? This place said Bucky was dead. But something about what was said on the plaque sounded right.

Was Steve right?

He probably was. Memory was the sacrifice he’d had to make to be the saviour of humanity. Pierce had told him that, once. (Though he couldn’t remember if he was supposed to remember that.)

The Winter Soldier thought about leaving, trying to find HYDRA again, getting a mission (something concrete to focus on without having to deal with the cutting memories.) But he thought again. Steve radiated conviction, greater than anyone in HYDRA. This wasn’t a man who thought he was right, this was a man who knew.

And the exhibition said he was his friend. And something had made him drag him out of the Potomac

(Doubt. More doubt than a saviour of humanity should have.)

(And something else to. A little voice in his head, saying ‘But I knew him’)

Bucky turned back to face him. “Steve?”

***

Steve heard his name. At first he thought it was one of the many recordings in the exhibit, until his brain caught up with his ears, and he realised that it came from next to him.

He glanced over at the person next to him. It was... no, it couldn’t be. He couldn’t just fall into his lap after searching so long. He looked away, and looked back again.

“Bucky?”

He was standing there, still looking like a mess, but with a little more life in his eyes. He looked up at Steve. “Steve?"

“Do you need somewhere to stay?” The way Bucky looked... was not good. It was the look of someone who needed a warm meal and bed, and after all he’d done for Steve, it was the least he deserved.

Bucky blinked a couple of times. “Yes,” he said, eventually.

Steve gently touched Bucky’s shoulder. He flinched, and Steve jerked his hand back. “Sorry. Follow me. I just need to make a call.” He remembered that he’d pulled it out it’s socket during the fight on Insight helicarrier. Though maybe Bucky just didn’t know how to react to touch.

He walked back through the exhibit towards the museum entrance, Bucky walking in his footsteps. Steve got out his phone, and called Sam.

The phone rung a few times before Sam answered it. “What is it, Cap?”

“I need to borrow your car. I’ve found Bucky.”

“You’re not taking the bike?”

“I’ll pay the fine for leaving it overnight. I think a car would be best.”

“Got it.” A remote beeped, and locks clicked on the other end of the line. “Where are you?”

“National Museum of American History.”

“On my way.”

***

The Winter Soldier waited next to Steve, watching the cars pass by.

Steve had talked to him, asked him how his day had been.

He didn’t answer. How were you supposed to answer that? Was it like giving a report? (you shouldn’t give reports to your targets, that would be just-- he couldn’t think of a word to properly encapsulate how wrong that would be.) He didn’t remember ever really been asked that.

Steve eventually stopped talking.

The Winter Soldier was a little bit thankful for that. But he was also disappointed. He wanted Steve to talk about Bucky. Tell him who he was. But how did you ask that? Was it a thing you were allowed to ask?

So they both kept quiet.

After a few minutes a car pulled up against the curb.

Steve led The Winter Soldier towards it, his hand resting a few inches in the air above the small of The Winter Soldier’s back.

The Winter Soldier slid into the back seat, careful not to jar his shoulder (it’d heal in a few days, wouldn’t it?).  

The Winter Soldier looked over at the driver. _The Winged Man_. “You were there.”

The Winged Man turned around, a little shocked. “Uh, yes. Yes I was.” He turned back around and started to drive onto the road. “I’m Sam.”

The Winter Soldier nodded.

Sam turned to Steve. “Where to?”

“My apartment.”

The Winter Soldier caught a quick flash of Brooklyn and blinked it away. They can’t have been going to Brooklyn. They were in D.C. Though still, something deep down said that _Steve’s apartment is in Brooklyn_.

They were on a highway when Sam spoke again. “So how are you feeling, Bucky?”

The Winter Soldier glanced around. “I’m not sure I am Bucky.”

Steve looked uncomfortable. “You _are_ Bucky.”

Sam ignored him. “What would you like to be called?”

The Winter Soldier shrugged. “Bucky is shorter.”

They arrived in front of an apartment building. It snuggled up close to it’s neighbours, straining to reach higher. Overall, it looked like any other apartment the Winter Soldier had seen.

As he and Steve stepped out, Sam called out behind them. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow then.”

Steve nodded. “See you then.” He turned to the Winter Soldier. “Come on Buck, let’s get you inside.”

They walked in and up the stairs. The Winter Soldier took note of the interior. Again, fairly standard. Nothing to make assassination particularly easy or difficult. The walls didn’t seem to be particularly sound proof though.

Steve frowned and ignored the screaming neighbours. “Sorry about that.”

The Winter Soldier didn’t say anything, just tucked his hair behind his ear and followed.

Steve unlocked his door. “Make yourself at home.”

The Winter Soldier stalked in, checking for threats. There didn’t seem to be any traps, but something about the room felt wrong. Like it should be triggering deja vu, but it wasn’t. It didn’t _feel_ like Steve’s apartment. (Not that he knew how Steve’s apartment was supposed to feel.)

“It’s okay Bucky, it’s safe.”

The Winter Soldier straightened.

“Do you want something to eat?”

The Winter Soldier nodded. Was that the right answer? He didn’t know if he was hungry. He’d always been fed when HYDRA thought he needed to be. He didn’t know what hunger even felt like. (Did it feel like an emptiness in your stomach? Then yes, he was hungry.)

The rest of the afternoon and evening passed in a blur. Steve fed him, then threw him in the shower.

It eventually came time to sleep. The Winter Soldier didn’t feel tired, not anymore than he normally did. He felt wound up and coiled, waiting for the next thing to happen.

“You can sleep in my bed if you want. I can bring the couch cushions over.”

The Winter Soldier glanced over at the front door. Unlocked. Weak hinges.  He shook his head and sat down on the couch.

Steve frowned. “Okay. Do you want me to bring the mattress over?”

“No.” He needed to be able to stand up without Steve noticing. Steve may have been Steve, but he was still his mission. There were knives in the kitchen drawer. They may not be the best, but they were there.

Steve’s face twitched between pleased and disappointed. It finally settled on calm. “Okay. I’ll see you in the morning.”

The Winter Soldier lay down, watching the door, waiting for the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs.

He woke up, not remembering falling asleep. Sweat dried on his back. He stood up, glancing around in the dark for whatever had woken him up.

Nothing moved.

He breathed out.

Then he remembered. Not when he fell asleep, but something far more important.

He walked over to the kitchen, carefully transferring his weight between his feet to not make a sound.

Faint blinks of recognition be damned, he needed to kill Steve. That was his mission. Even if he recognised him enough to drag him out of the Potomac, even if he’d been so, so kind, even if the rest of HYDRA had fallen.

Captain America must die.

He pulled out the drawer slowly. What even caused him to recognise him? He didn’t even know him. He was Captain America, yes, but there was no real evidence that the Winter Soldier was Bucky. Nothing but whatever Steve saw, and the Winter Soldier’s faint flashes of memory. (But everyone had those, didn’t they?)

He grabbed a bread knife (not ideal, but at least it had some reach) and stalked over to Steve’s door.

It creaked as he pushed it open.

***

Steve woke with a start. _Just a door creaking. Nothing to worry about._ There’s no one else in the apartment. Not that trying to reassure his mind did anything really to decrease the rate of his heart.

He paused. _The Winter Soldier is in the apartment._

He bolted up and threw himself into the correct stance. He had just enough time to register the silhouette in the doorway before it leapt at him.

Bucky tried to stab him in the chest.

Steve grabbed the blade before it hit, cutting his hand. He threw it away.

Bucky overbalanced and fell on the floor.

Steve went over to pin him, but Bucky sprung up, cat like, before he had the chance. He leaped at Steve again.

Steve’s back hit the wall, right shoulder pinned by Bucky’s metal arm. Bucky’s flesh arm hung, still dislocated.

“Bucky, stop. I’m Steve. Your friend.”

Bucky lifted his right arm and punched Steve across the jaw.  

Earlier, Steve would have just let him keep going. He wasn’t going to fight his friend. He’d let Bucky kill him and have his corpse drop into the Potomac just so he didn’t have to fight Bucky.

But now? Bucky needed him. He could help Bucky now.

Sometime you had to be cruel to be kind.

With his free hand, he grabbed Bucky’s fist. “Bucky. You are Bucky, not the Winter Soldier.”

Bucky yanked his arm free, and held it there, ready to strike.

“I’m Steve. I’m your friend from before.” He resisted the temptation to yell _We’ve been through all this before!_ “I’m with you til the end of the line.”

***

The Winter Soldier blinked twice, and it came back to him.

Not just Steve, more than faint blinks, but full blown images. _A small man, coughing his lungs out, but still fighting. Trying to stop him getting killed in some war, and then HIM rescuing YOU._

_Being captured, turned into something else. Chairs, restraints and gags. Electricity arcing along skin, your skin, leaving nothing but a shell._

_Waking up and remembering nothing._

_Falling, falling and falling, plunging into icy water. Falling again, everything broken again, into another river, going under it water not as icy but just as all encompassing and terrifying--_

***

Bucky let go and just... collapsed.

Steve swallowed. Bucky fell down like a marionette with his strings cut.

Buck whimpered and twitched.

Steve kneeled down.

Bucky squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth.

“Bucky?” Steve touched his shoulder.

Bucky flinched away from the touch, hands flying to the back of his neck, and he shrieked. It was short and sharp and loud, like Steve had poked at an open wound.

Steve took his hand away. “Sorry Buck, I won’t do that again. I promise.” He stood up. He didn’t pay much attention to what he said, just babbled comforting nonsense. “It’s going to be okay. i’m going to put the knife away, and it will be all fine. I’m going to call Sam -- you remember him, don’t you Buck? He was the one who drove us here -- I’m going to call him and he’ll help. He knows what to do. It’ll be okay.”

He grabbed the knife and walked over to the door. He looked over his shoulder. It didn’t feel right to leave Bucky when he was like this. Steve rolled his shoulders and walked on. It’d only be for a second.

He replaced the knife in the drawer. (The gun cabinet may have been a better choice, but it was a bread knife. He’d need it in the morning.) He went over to the cordless phone and picked it up, dialling as he walked back to Bucky.

***

Sam’s phone rung.

He groped along his bedside table, before finally managing to grab it. He sat up. “Hello, Sam Wilson speaking.” He blinked the sleep from his eyes and yawned.

_“It’s Steve. We have a bit of a problem.”_

That woke him up. “What’s wrong? Has Bucky attacked you?”

_“Well... a little bit, but that’s not the problem we have.”_

Sam got up out of bed and slipped on some shoes. This was certain to turn into a house call. “What’s the problem?”

_“I reminded Bucky who I was, and who he was, and then he collapsed. He’s on the floor, whimpering, and he’s not responding to me talking, only responding to me touching him.”_

“Mh-hm?” He threw on a coat, grabbed his keys, and walked out to car. Road safety be damned, this was an emergency. And with any luck, no police would notice him on his phone.

_“I touched his shoulder, and he started screaming.”_

Sam tried to go through the causes in his mind and started driving. If he strained to hear, he could just about hear whimpering. ‘Could you put Bucky on the phone?”

There was a pause. The whimpering got louder. _“_ _How?”_

“Can you see his ear? Hold the phone just above it.”

_“Okay.”_ The whimpering got closer, and Steve’s voice got further away. _“_ _Bucky, it’s okay. It’s Sam on the phone for you. He wants to help you.”_

“Bucky, can you hear me?”

Bucky let out a long whine.

“Bucky, it’s going to be fine. Just follow my instructions. I want you to take a deep breath.”

_“Can’t._ _”_ Bucky whimpered more.

_Small victory._ “Yes, you can. Follow me.” Sam breathed in loudly and slowly.

_“Can’t. Drowning--”_

“Bucky, I can guarantee you that you aren’t drowning. It’s just your brain playing tricks on you. If you breathe with me, you _will_ feel better. Breathe in--” Bucky followed shakily. “-- and out. I want you to do that five more times for me, okay?” Sam listened and counted Bucky’s sobbing breaths. When he finished, he started speaking again. “Do you feel better now?”

Bucky just whimpered again.

Sam cursed under his breath. At least it wasn't surprising that just breathing didn’t completely help. “Okay Bucky, I want you to open your eyes if they’re not already. What do you see?”

_“There’s no point. I’m in a river, it’s all water--”_

“Bucky, you’re not in a river. You’re not drowning. Open your eyes. What do you see?”

_“Wall.”_

‘Tell me about the wall. What’s it look look like?”

_“_ _Beige. Plaster.”_

“Okay, what’s the floor like.”

“ _Beige_ _as well._ _Carpet.”_ Bucky’s breathing seemed to have calmed a bit.

“What’s the carpet like, Bucky?” Sam turned. Nearly there.

_“Soft.”_

“Do you know where you are?”

There was a pause. _“Steve’s apartment?”_

“Right you are. Tell Steve I’m nearly there.”

Sam could hear Bucky shifting. _“_ _Sam says he’s nearly here.”_

Sam parked and jumped out of the car. He ran up the stairs two at a time. He knocked on Steve’s door. “Tell Steve I’m at the door.”

_“Sam says he’s at the door.”_

***

Steve lifted the phone off Bucky’s ear. “You okay with me answering the door?”

Bucky shrugged.

“I’ll be right back.” Steve stood up and walked over to the kitchen. He replaced the phone, went over to the door, and opened it. “It’s good to see you Sam, he’s just threw there--”

Sam stood in the doorway, frowning. “I need to talk to you first. You said he attacked you?”

Steve nodded.

“What did he do?”

Steve shrugged. “He came at me with a bread knife. The door creaked as it opened, I woke up, brought him back to himself. Then he collapsed, and I called you.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “And where’s the knife now?”

“In the knife drawer.”

Sam sighed. “Steve, the only reason you don’t have a knife in your chest is because of hypervigilance and a creaky door. Put your knives somewhere safer. If not for you, then for Bucky. We don’t know if he’s going to harm himself or not.”

Steve nodded. “Okay, I’ll find somewhere to put them.”

“Good.” Sam pointed past Steve. “He just through there?”

“Second door on your left.”

Sam nodded and walked past Steve. “Oh, and there’s a package on your doorstep.”

“A package?” Steve stuck his head through the door. A large cardboard box, two feet by two feet by five inches, sat propped up against the wall. “FRAGILE” stickers covered most of the box. Steve grabbed it and eyed it suspiciously, carrying it over the the couch. One of the many “FRAGILE” stickers half covered the return address, but the the Stark Industries on the shipping label made it’s origin clear.

He exhaled. The fact it was from Stark made it a little less likely it was a bomb or something else dangerous. A little.

He cut the tape with his nails and opened the box. His shield sat in the box. Steve grabbed it, eager to have it’s weight resting in his hands.

A note fluttered out. He picked it up and read it.

_“Cap. Stephen Rogers,_

_I request that you are more careful with your shield in the future. Vibranium is RARE, in case you were not aware of this already._

_-NJF”_

A little handwritten note was at bottom of the letter.

_“Seriously Cap, do you know how hard it is to find vibranium in a large body of water? Well, easier than most metals, BUT THAT IS NOT THE POINT._

_Love, Tony Stark”_

Steve huffed out a breath and dropped the note. Tony definitely wrote that. The “FRAGILE” stickers were probably what Tony thought of as a joke.

He felt along the rim of the shield. It seemed to be as good as new despite the fall into the river.

It felt good to have his shield back. It was his weapon. He could defend himself properly if something happened to Bucky again. The Winter Soldier may have been able to wield it, but he couldn’t wield it as well as Steve.

Steve rested the shield on his lap and hoped he wouldn’t have to use it.

***

The Winter Soldier heard the footsteps from up the corridor. His muscles tensed, ready to leap up and defend himself (not that he could, he couldn’t will his limbs to do anything right now), and his breathing sped up again. He tried to calm it. Sam was at the door before, it was probably him walking down the corridor.

The Winter Soldier saw someone’s feet as they walked into the room. He lifted his head and looked up. It was Sam. He let his cheek fall back to the floor.

“How are you feeling?”

“Better.”

Sam just stood there and crossed his arms. “You’re not going to sit up, are you?”

The Winter Soldier shook his head.

Sam sighed and sat down next to him. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”

The Winter Soldier shrugged. “Maybe. You’re going to take it away anyway.”

“Pardon?”

“I said you’re going to take the memory away anyway. My missions would be compromised if I knew to much.” Bucky frowned. It was obvious, wasn’t it?

Sam made an odd expression (The Winter Soldier didn’t quite recognise it. Pity? Sorrow?) and dropped his voice. “I promise I won’t take any of your memories or tell anyone else about what you say unless I’m worried you’re going to hurt yourself or anyone else. We’re not HYDRA.”

“If you’re lying, you won’t live long.”

“I am aware.”

The Winter Soldier settled into the carpet. This might take awhile. “What do you want to know?”

“I want to know why you attacked Steve with a bread knife.”

“He was my mission.” Why did he even need to ask that?

“Was?”

“I’m not sure if he is anymore.”

Sam nodded. “What happened afterwards?”

“He reminded me who he was, and I remembered.”

“Remembered what?”

“That he was Steve. That I drowned.”

“So that was why you were saying you were drowning.”

The Winter Soldier shrugged.

“Those were flashbacks . They’re pretty normal. They get better with treatment.”

“Sounds good.”

“Are you saying treatment sounds good?”

The Winter Soldier shrugged again. He scanned the room.

A book sat on Steve’s bedside table: _Unsung Hero: A Biography of James ‘Bucky’ Barnes_ by Gabe Jones. He blinked a couple of times. The title was intriguing enough, he wanted to know more about the man everyone was convinced he was, but it was the author’s name that really intrigued him. He recognised the name. It wasn’t bone deep knowledge like the name Steve, just a faint flash of deja vu, of vague memory of once knowing someone with that name.

He stood up and went over to the book.

***

“WOAH!”

Steve jumped up from the couch and ran towards Sam when he heard the shout. He was in the doorway, shield up before he had time to think.

Sam pressed himself up against a wall.

Bucky stood next to his bedside table... reading? He flipped the page.  

He turned to face Sam. “You all right?”

Sam laughed nervously and peeled himself off the wall. “He just surprised me. I wasn’t expecting him to spring up like that.”

“Well, considering his history--”

“Yeah, I know, probably reasonable in this case. Right now I’m more surprised about the book.”

“He went straight for it?”

“And starting reading.” Sam tried to look past Bucky. “What is it anyway?”

“It’s a biography of him.”

Sam looked a little bit unimpressed. “You own a biography of Bucky?”

“It was written by one of the Howling Commandos.”

If anything, Sam looked less impressed. “Steve--”

“I know, I know. Let’s focus on the important things. Will he react to anything but the book right now?”

“It’s been all of thirty seconds since he picked up. I don’t know.”

Steve inched over to him. “Bucky?”

Bucky stood still, and turned the page again.

“It’s me, Steve.”

No reaction.

Steve turned to Sam.

Sam shrugged. “I don’t know what’s going on either. Maybe another flashback?”

Steve frowned and walked back over to Sam. “Bucky was never much of a reader.”

“Maybe he’s just intrigued by the title.” Sam paused and rocked from side to side.

“You were going to say something?”

“Confidentiality.”

Steve could guess what Sam was thinking.  The file mentioned mind wiping, and Bucky had an odd memory of himself (and Steve too, if the meeting on the bridge was any indication.) The thought of Bucky having to slowly piece himself back together, or worse, work out how to pretend to be himself made Steve want to murder every member of HYDRA one by one. He exhaled, trying to push out the thoughts with his breath. Every member of HYDRA would get a trial. “Should we just leave him here?”

“I don’t think he’s going to respond to us. We may as well just keep an eye on him.”

***

At first none of what the author said seemed right.

Then all of it did.

The Winter Soldier -- no, Bucky --  lost track of time as he read.

The section on his childhood didn’t quite strike him as right. It didn’t seem wrong, per se, it just seemed like it belonged to someone else, long dead.

Then he reached a page where he became friends with Steve. The author didn’t seem to know much about what had happened then, but it was enough to jog his memory.

_Scrawny kid, always coughing, but he was nice. Their Ma’s were best friends, so they spent a lot of time together._

_They sat on the balcony, while their moms talked about whatever moms talked about._

_“Hey, Buck?”_

_“Yeah?”_

_“Are we best friends?”_

_He turned to Steve, and with a grin that only a ten year old who’d seen no better or worse in life could have, said “Of course.”_

He tried to read faster after that.

Growing up, going to war, it was all there.

The author reached Zola’s lab. Again, he didn’t seem to know what happened to Bucky himself, but he knew Zola’s lab.

Bucky felt his breath quicken, and he tried to turn past the pages on the lab, blinking away the ice cold table and the name and rank bubbling past his lips.

(The author seemed to think he’d only been there once, but that didn’t feel right. He was sure he’d been there more than once.)

The book finished in a river he didn’t die in. He wanted to throw it across the room. His story didn’t end there, and there was so much he didn’t remember--

He exhaled and looked out the window. Sunlight filtered through the blinds.

Bucky walked out of the room, hugging the book to his chest. “Steve?” He didn’t know why he wanted to talk to Steve, but something told him ‘talk to Steve’ was a strategy that couldn’t go far wrong.

Steve trotted up to Bucky, forehead creased in worry. “Is something wrong?”

Bucky shook his head. “Nothing’s wrong. I just wanted to know if the author knew what he was talking about.”

Steve nodded. “Do you recognise the name?”

“Maybe.”

“He was one of the Howling Commandos.”

Bucky blinked a couple of times. _Yes, he did remember him._ “The black one who knew languages?”

Steve nodded and grinned.

Bucky held out the book. “I should probably return this to you.”

Steve pushed it back. “You can keep it, you probably need it more.” Steve pointed behind him at the kitchen. “I made some oatmeal. Want some?”

Bucky nodded and followed him.


	2. A call, an email, and some therapy

Bucky sat at the kitchen table, watching Steve ladle out oatmeal into a bowl. He passed the bowl over to Bucky and laid out a dish of milk and a dish of some sort of granular, brown substance.

Steve sat on the other end of the table.

Bucky gestured at the table — _Where is your food?_

“I’ve already eaten. You go on ahead.”

Bucky gulped down some oatmeal. It reminded him vaguely of something, but he ignored it and tried to eat as fast as he could. No point wasting time eating.

Steve looked disappointed when he finished.

Bucky stared at him, trying to read his expression. Why was he disappointed.

Steve shook his head and gathered up the bowls and dishes. “Nevermind.”

There was a thud and a strangled yelp from the couch.

Bucky jumped up onto the chair and spun around.

“You okay Sam?” Steve asked.

Sam stood up from behind the couch, brushing himself. “I’m fine. I just rolled off.” He walked over to the kitchen.

Steve replaced the dishes, and put out a new bowl for Sam.

Sam sat down. “Thanks.” He ate a spoonful, then looked up. “Why are you on the chair?”

Bucky stepped off it, hands still raised and ready.

“You just  surprised him,” Steve said.

“Oh, sorry Buck.”

Bucky lowered his hands and shrugged. “It’s okay.”

Sam ate a couple more spoonfuls. “Steve, Bucky, I have something I need to say.

Steve lifted himself up to sit on the kitchen bench. “Yeah?”

“Considering what happened last night, I don’t think either of you should be left alone with each other. And I’m definitely sure that Bucky shouldn’t be left alone, full stop.”

Bucky looked down at the kitchen tiles. There were checkered. “Sorry.”

“Not your fault. Anyway, I was going to offer to let you stay at my place. I’ll have to come to some arrangement with the VA, but it should be possible.”

“Couldn’t he come with you?”

“With the mess in the city right now, I’m not sure bringing a guy with a metal arm into the VA is the smartest idea right now.”

Bucky went back to staring at his shoes. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise . It wasn’t you.”

Bucky lifted his head. “What?” He resisted the urge to keep talking. _You were there.You saw who did it. It was me. Who tried to shoot Captain America? Me. Who killed the traitor Sitwell? Me. Who ripped off your wings? Me._

“As far as I can tell, you were programmed. It’s not your fault. It’s HYDRA’s” He muttered to himself. ‘Though I think this is too strong for the normal use of ‘program.’”

Bucky glared at Sam. “Just because someone else told me who to shoot doesn’t mean I didn’t fire the gun.”

Sam looked unperturbed. “Breathe, Bucky.”

Bucky noticed the air forcing it’s way into his lungs fasted than he had thought it was. He turned away and swallowed, trying to get it back under control.

“As I said, I think you were programmed. I could be wrong.”

The room felt too small. It had too many people in it. Bucky grabbed the book and and scurried away to the couch. He flopped down on it, not caring what the others thought. He didn’t have enough space in his brain for so many people.

He opened the book to the first page.

***

Sam shrugged. “At least he’s a little bit able to read his emotions. I didn’t think he would be able to.”

Steve looked over in the direction Bucky had stomped off, brow creased in worry. “Should we do something.”

“Just give him a little space. It’s probably what he needs right now.”

They paused.

Sam stood up from the chair. “I’ll go call the VA.” He walked over to the phone, and punched in the number.

“You have called the Washington D.C branch of the Department of Veterans Affairs, this is Rachel speaking. How may I help you?”

“It’s Sam Wilson.”

That shocked Rachel out of her memorised spiel. “Oh, Sam, it’s you. Are you okay? You haven’t been showing up to work.”

“That might be because I’ve been being dragged around by the Star Spangled Man with A Plan.”

Steve made a choking noise in the background.

“Captain America has been dragging you around?”

“Pretty much. Anyway, this is kind of related to that. You know the Winter Soldier/”

“You mean the man who has singlehandedly made our jobs a whole lot harder?”

“That’s him. Turns out he’s one of the Captain’s buddies from world war two, brainwashed and cryogenically frozen. I think I can help him recover, but I can’t leave him alone for any length of time right now.”

Rachel sounded unimpressed. “Sam…” She sighed. “I’m glad you’re helping him, but… Look, you’ve been missing a lot of work, and maybe the Winter Soldier, or whatever he’s called, should be in a hospital.”

“From what I know of his history, putting him in a hospital is the worst thing we could do now.”

“It’s your job on the line.”

“I’m going to do the right thing.”

“And your life, considering who you’re helping.”

“I promised myself that I’d do the right thing. This is the right thing.”

“As long as you know. I’ll wait for you to see sense.”

Sam slammed the phone down.

“Didn’t go so well?”

Sam wandered back to the table. “Working with superheroes turns out to be terrible for your job security.”

Steve looked concerned. “You were fired?”

“Not yet, but the way things are going…”

‘Look, if you need to go back—”

Sam cut him off. “You heard the conversation. I’m going to do the right thing. And Bucky definitely needs the help more than I do.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re helping him. I’m not sure how helpful I am.”

“You’re helpful, Cap, you just don’t have the knowledge. But you’ll be useful, don’t worry.”

“Well, i’m glad you think so.”

They sat in silence for a bit.

“We should probably get going.”

“I’ll grab some spare clothes.”

Sam paused, then spoke again. “How are we going to get your bike back.”

“I’ll probably call a friend, give them the keys and the money for the impound.”

“You have friends? I mean, other ones?”

Steve managed to smile and look unimpressed at the same time. “I’m not that lonely, Sam.”

***

Steve packed a few days worth of clothes and some toiletries into a duffel bag. It should be enough to last him while he was stuck at Sam’s place.

He wasn’t sure how Bucky was going to get clothes. He’d found him in a hoodie and jeans, no sign of his uniform. And Steve’s clothes definitely wouldn’t fit.

Steve walked out into the lounge room, hoping Bucky would be willing to talk.

Bucky lay down on the couch, still reading.

“Hey, Buck?”

Bucky grunted.

_Well, at least he responded._ “Do you have any other clothes?”

Bucky shrugged.

“Do you know how you got those ones.”

“Cache.”

Steve dragged a stool over towards the couch, “What sort of cache?”

Bucky looked out from the book, seeming a bit uncomfortable. “I don’t know, it was a cache. I didn’t think about finding it, it was where my feet took me.” He went back to his book. “I think the rest have been emptied. The one I found was missing its gun.”

Steve shot up from the stool. If that was a HYDRA cache… “You should get those clothes off now. Tracking devices.”

Bucky stood up mechanically, put the book down, and took off his shirt. His eyes looked unfocused, glazed.

Steve didn’t have time to question what he’d done. He ran over and grabbed a shirt and a pair of jeans from his duffel bag. He ran back and passed the pile to Bucky.

Bucky was already halfway out of his pants.

Steve turned away out of politeness.

After a while, Bucky grunted, and Steve looked back.

The shirt almost fit him, though it was more of a loose tunic on him really, but even with the belt done up as far as it could go, the jeans tried to fall off his hips, and the hems pooled around his ankles.

“We’ll get you some more clothes.”

Sam came out of the kitchen, and peered around the doorway. “What was that about clothes?’ He paused, and raised an eyebrow at Bucky.

“He ordered me to take them off,” — he gestured at the floor with his old clothes — “And put these on.”

Sam’s eyebrow went higher.

“I did not.” Steve massaged his temples. This was possibly going to be an even more interesting day than the last. “He found them in a HYDRA cache. I was worried about tracking devices.”

Sam seemed to file something away in his memory, then nodded. “You guys about ready to go?”

“Let me just grab the bag.”

***

Bucky stepped out of the car and surveyed his surroundings. Sam’s house huddled close to it’s neighbours, with only about a foot between the outer walls and the fencelines. But at least there was a fence and a little bit of distance. You could hide in the gap and no one would notice.

He walked up to the gate. A padlock and chain kept it shut. He looked up. It wasn’t too tall. He rested his hands on the latch, testing if it could hold his weight. He hopped over it, using his hands on the latch to push him up. He landed a little awkwardly, but at least he was on his feet. He grunted. A hoppable fence, with just a padlock no less,  wasn’t as secure as he would have liked it, but it was better than nothing.

Sam unlocked and pushed the gate open, looking perturbed. “You know you could have waited for me to unlock it, right?”

Bucky shrugged. “I wanted to see if it was jumpable.”

Sam turned around, closed the gate and locked it. “Just don’t go fence hopping into other people’s yards, okay?”

“Don’t intend to.”

Sam led the way up the short path to the front door, and unlocked the door.

Bucky followed in just behind Sam, with Steve at the back.

Bucky scanned the room. The front door led to a short hall, with a pile of shoes on one side. He kept his back to wall without the shoes, keeping an eye on the doorway into the rest of the house.

Sam passed it. He made a sweeping gesture. “Here’s the living room.”

Bucky peeked around the corner before stepping out into the living room. A beige couch sat in front of a flat screen television. The kitchen and dining room sat on the right of the living room, only a little corner wall separating them. A picture window ran along the side, truncated by the backdoor in the kitchen.

“Come on, Buck, let me show you around. Steve’s been here once before.”

He walked down another hallway.

Bucky stuck close to the walls and checked his corners as he followed. He didn’t think about it, he did it automatically.

Sam didn’t comment on it.

He pointed at a door. “Here’s the bathroom.” He walked a few more steps. “Here’s your bedroom.”

Bucky squeezed past Sam and peered into the room. It was a simple. It felt almost like a cheap hotel room had grown legs and walked into Sam’s house. It had blue carpet that matched the bedding on the single bed, and one window set just a little off centre.

It took Bucky a second to realise he wasn’t sure why he knew what a cheap hotel room looked like.

He paused. He wasn’t sure what to say. Nothing came to mind.

Sam still hovered at the door, obviously waiting for something.

“Thanks.” Bucky hoped that was roughly what Sam was looking for. He stared at the window, trying to work out exactly how insecure it was (so far Sam’s house didn’t seem any worse or better than Steve’s apartment.)

“No worries. Tell me if you need anything. I’ll—” He paused for a second, looking for the words “— have a talk with you after lunch.” He turned and left.

_Have a talk_? It wasn’t a phrase Sam seemed to use in conjunction with whatever he was talking about. What was a ‘talk’? Was it the same thing as what happened the night before. (He shivered at the remembered cold.)

He stood for awhile, looking at the window, not seeing anything, before he flopped down on the bed and started reading again.

***

They ate lunch quickly. Sam and Steve spoke about something, but Bucky didn’t pay much attention. It didn’t seem to be a conversation he was meant to join. Steve took the plates away and left.

Bucky followed him with his eyes. He turned back to Sam and cocked his head. _Why did he leave?_

“He wanted to give us some privacy while we talked. Do you want to go over to the couch?”

Bucky shrugged, but stood up and walked over anyway.

Sam walked behind him.

Bucky stood in the middle of the room, waiting for permission to sit.

Sam didn’t move, and looked confused.

_Does he want me to stand_ _?_ He stood straight.

Sam broke the silence. “You can sit down, you know.”

Bucky sat down in the middle of one of the couches, back straight, not touching the back cushions.

Sam sat down on one opposite and reached over for a pen and a notebook. He rested it on his right knee. “Do you know what therapy is?”

Bucky’s flesh hand started twitching, as if an electric wire was being prodded into it. He curled his fist into the fabric of his jeans. “Electroconvulsive.”

Sam tried to to keep his expression still, but Bucky could notice the subtle tension out the corner of his eye. “No. We don’t use that very often any more.”

Bucky nodded.

Sam looked up for a second. “Do you know Freud?”

Bucky shook his head. “The name doesn’t ring a bell.”

“That’s probably a good thing, Freud was a moron. Therapy—” Sam paused and leaned back, resting his pen on his chin. “—therapy is a way of making your brain work better.” He leaned forward to a more normal position. “That’s not a great definition, but it’ll probably work for our purposes. Therapy might help bring back some of your memory, and it should make you feel a lot better. It’ll only work if you’re honest with me though. I promise not tell anyone else what you say to me, unless I am sure that it critical for your safety, or someone elses. Is that clear?”

Bucky nodded.

“So far, I’m pretty sure you have something known as Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. PTSD for short. You can’t cure it, but its symptoms can be lessened, and you can get better and coping with it.”

“You sure I have it?”

Sam shrugged. “I’d need a little more time to formally diagnose it, but yeah. You’ve experienced at least one traumatic event—” He started counting off on his fingers “— you’ve had a flashback, you act at least a little bit numb; I’m not sure that your memory of what happened to you is crash hot, and you seem to be the poster child for hypervigilance.” Sam shrugged with one shoulder and tipped his head to the side for a second. “That’s most of the symptoms right there. You might have more though.”

Bucky looked up from under his hair at Sam. “And you can fix it?”

“I can help you get better. You’ll have to put a lot of work in, and it’s not necessarily pleasant. I speak from experience.”

“You have it too?”

“It’s what got me into this profession. Someone helped me, I decided to help other people. It’s pretty common among people who’ve been in a war, so there’s plenty of people who need help.”

Bucky cocked his head. “You were a soldier?”

“Air force, technically.”

Bucky nodded. “It’s good to have someone like you helping me.”

“Our first step is to work out what triggers your flashbacks, what triggers you into to trying to murder Steve, and work out what form of therapy would work best for you. So, do you know what caused that flashback last night.”

Bucky shrugged. “I don’t know. Steve reminded me.”

“Of what?”

Bucky shrugged again and crossed his arms. “I don’t who. Who I was, I guess. It kind of just kept going from there.” He looked away.

Sam scribbled in his little notebook, frowning. “Well work out more later. I’m guessing you don’t know what caused you to try and kill Steve.”

“I woke up. I remembered my mission. That’s it.”

Sam wrote that down too. ‘We’ll probably get a better idea over time anyway. There’s two types of therapy I’m trained in; I’ll let you chose which one we do. You deserve to have some choice. There is Cognitive Processing Therapy. You learn about the symptoms, then you work on changing your beliefs about the trauma, learning to become more aware of your emotions. That’s a terrible definition, but it will work for our purposes.”

Bucky frowned. It sounded… fluffy? He couldn’t quite find the right word. It sounded weak.

“Then there’s Prolonged Exposure therapy. It starts off much the same as CPT, learning about the symptoms. Then you learn breathing techniques. After that, you expose yourself to the things you fear: situations, memories, thoughts. Over time, your reaction to it lessens. You find yourself less stressed or scared by them. It’s the least comfortable thing ever, and I say that from experience, but it works very well for some people.”

Bucky nodded. Facing his fears seemed the best way, as opposed to getting in touch with his emotions. He’d have to face them anyway, may as well do it in a way that helps. “Sounds good.”

“We’ll start working on it tomorrow. I think this is a good place to stop today.” Sam checked his watch. “Even if it’s only been fifteen minutes.”

***

The afternoon and evening passed uneventfully. Steve emerged from his room and talked to Sam, Bucky couldn’t quite work out whether he was meant to join in or not.

They still talked as the ate dinner.

Bucky wolfed down his food as quickly as he could, and went back to the guest room and read the book again. What was it, third time? He didn’t care. He’d nearly memorised it, the spare details of his childhood, his enlistment. He knew the words that described them well. It didn’t match with his memory, but it didn’t matter. He knew what happened.

He still skipped over the section with Zola. He’d committed it to memory in a different way.

When he reached the end again, he looked out the window. The moon had risen above the roofs, the trees. He put the book down. It was foolish to read now. Too much of risk, now it was dark enough that even his eyes had trouble piercing it. He rolled onto his stomach, so he could see fully out of it, but leave as small a silhouette as possible.

He stared out into the night.

After some time, he wasn’t really sure, he felt his eyes try to flutter shut.

He pinched his right arm. He couldn’t afford to sleep. Something could be out there.

(HYDRA probably. Whatever they did had taken Steve from him, he couldn’t let that happen. Never again.)

There was another reason he didn’t want to sleep. Last time he woke up, his last mission filled his mind. He tried to kill Steve. HYDRA didn’t need to be at his window to take Steve from him. All they had to do was wait for him to sleep.

He couldn’t let that happen.

He watched the window, waiting for something to sneak out of the night.

***

Steve woke up. He bolted upright and had his shield in his hands before he even registered that he was awake. He blinked a couple of times. The door was still shut. He padded over to the door, and opened it. No one in the corridor.

He closed the door, and sighed. At least Bucky hadn’t reverted and tried to kill him. It was probably just the house settling that woke him up.

He lay back down. It was good that it wasn’t Bucky. Maybe Buck was even getting a decent night’s sleep. He needed it probably. He had dark circles under his eyes when he found him at the museum, and they had gotten worse since then.

Hopefully Bucky was getting some sleep. It was an unlikely hope, but it was a hope.

***

The sound of his alarm crooning _Never Gonna Give You Up_ woke Sam up.

(Most alarms sounded far too much like sirens. _Never Gonna Give You Up_ was just as annoying, but far less panic attack inducing.)

He reached over and slammed the off button, and staggered out of bed.He shuffled down the corridor. Steve’s door was closed, but whether that meant he was asleep, or awake but had closed the door afterwards, Sam wasn’t sure. Bucky’s door sat open though.

Sam walked out into the kitchen, and found Bucky methodically opening cupboards, while muttering. _A_ _t least I know where he is._ Sam strained to listen. That couldn’t possibly English, no, it sounded… Russian?

“Bucky, what are you doing?”

Bucky whipped his head around looked over the counter at Sam, before turning back and going back to opening and closing cupboards.

“Are you looking for something?”

Bucky nodded and stood up. He went over to the cutlery drawer, opened it, then closed it again.

Sam walked around the countertop. This was like pulling teeth. “What are you looking for.”

Bucky waved his hands in a circular motion, and looked up, thinking. “Alert… making… things?”

“Stimulants?”

Bucky nodded, and opened the drawer under the cutlery.

“There aren’t any in this house.”

Bucky turned around and cocked his head like a confused puppy.

“They can make PTSD symptoms worse.” There were other reasons too. Sam swallowed down the memories. “Anyway, I don’t think you need to be any more alert than you already are. You’re pretty tightly wound as it is.”

“But I need not to sleep.”

“You need to sleep, Bucky. If this is an issue with nightmares, we can work on that, but you need to sleep.”

Bucky stalked over to the dining table. “It’s not nightmares.”

“Then what is it?”

Bucky didn’t say anything.

Sam turned and leaned against the counter. “If you tell me, I will keep it secret. The sooner you tell me, the sooner I can help you.”

“Not sure you can.”

“Well, you’re not the therapist, so you’re not in a great position to judge that, and I don’t know what the problem is, so I’m not in a great position to judge that either.”

Bucky grunted.

Steve walked out of the corridor, far too chirpy to be someone who’d just woken up. He wore clothes, but his hair hadn’t been combed yet. “Good morning. Did everyone sleep well?”

Sam grabbed a bowl and a box of cereal. “Uhuh.”

Bucky said nothing, and stared at the table top. .

Steve sat down opposite to Bucky, and turned around in his chair to face Sam. “Any plans for today?”

Sam shrugged. “Not sure yet. Me and Buck have some work to do today, but other than that—” he shrugged “—no plans yet.”

Steve turned back around to Bucky. “Anything you want to do?”

Bucky didn’t look up from the table. He shrugged.

***

After breakfast, Steve sat down in front of the couch with his StarkPad. Bucky had retreated into his room again, and Sam had gone into the shower.

A little notification thing jumped up from out of his mail program. He opened it. The newest email had been sent at 3 am last night, by someone called Naomi Robertson. The email address itself was a garbled string of numbers Steve frowned. He didn’t know anyone by that name. He didn’t know anyone with that last name. He nearly ignored it, assuming it was a virus, when he saw the title: _i thought you deserved to know_. Tony had assured him that Stark tech was as virus proof as anything, and this seemed to be important. He tapped the screen to open it.

The email seemed to be written in a hurry, full of typos and lacking capitalisation.

“ _steve,_

_i thought you deserved to know who i am now. im rikcing my cover writing this. my name is now naomi robertson. i work for imports and exports (cliche i know). i may somehow have connections with stark industries._

_you don’t know me. youre unlikely to ever meet me._

_love, nr_

_ps don’t try and write back. this email address won’t exist anymore._ ”

***

Sam looked over his notes again, just to remind himself before he tried to have a session with him again. It was odd. Yesterday afternoon, Bucky was open and willing to talk. He didn’t have much of a clue of what was going on, but he didn’t seem to be lying or hiding the truth. The ignorance looked genuine. But this morning? Closed right off. He started out just normal Bucky levels of only answering the question he was asked and none of the implied ones, but then he just stopped talking when Sam asked about why he wasn’t sleeping.

It was an odd change in behaviour. Sudden. It might have just been the sleep deprivation talking though.

Sam had two theories about why Bucky went quiet when he asked. Neither of them were particularly useful, though.

The first was that it was nightmares, but Bucky felt ashamed admitting it. Maybe he thought it was a sign of weakness.

At least with this theory, there was a way to get past it ‘easily’: build trust, reduce shame. Done. It was the sort of thing he did all the time.

There was the second theory though. It wasn’t so much a theory as a counter-argument: it was something completely different. It wasn’t nightmares. Maybe he felt like someone was going to attack him in his sleep, maybe it was something else. Maybe he wasn’t telling Sam out of shame, maybe because he didn’t trust Sam enough, maybe because he didn’t think Sam would understand. Maybe he had yet another motivation.

This was a less easy to solve problem. All the causes had different cures attached. He needed more information. Information Bucky seemed unwilling to divulge.

Hell, the only difference between the nightmare theory and the anything-else theory was that in one Bucky was lying and in the other he was just being shirty around the truth. He didn’t have enough information to call it another way.

This was going to be an interesting session.

***

Bucky sat down on the couch, in the same place he had sat yesterday. He watched Sam.

He walked over and sat on the other couch, notebook and pen in hand. His face was set. “Okay, We’re going to go over symptoms, and if we have time, breathing techniques, but there’s something we need to do first. I’m going to ask you again: why are you avoiding sleep?”

Bucky frowned. Did he really not get it. “You were there a couple of nights ago, correct? It wasn’t someone else?”

“If you mean the night after Steve found you, yes. But I can’t read your mind. Bucky, This will be a lot easier if you just _tell_ me.”

“If you can’t make the connections, there’s no point telling you.”

Sam sighed. “Even if you never tell me why you are not sleeping, you are going to end up sleeping. Is that clear?”

Bucky just blinked.

***

Bucky’s mind groaned under the weight of information Sam had told him. At least Sam had stopped speaking.

“Oh, one more thing.”

Bucky turned his head.

“If you don’t sleep tonight, it’s going to be the first thing we work on.”

“I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

“If you can tell me in words why it wouldn’t be a good idea, I’ll listen and reconsider.”


	3. Chapter 3

Bucky lay on his stomach, looking out the window. He couldn’t fall asleep. He’d kill Steve if he did. He couldn’t let that happen.

Why did Sam have to be so thick headed? It was obvious, wasn’t it? He woke up, and tried to kill Steve. That was what happened.

But Sam couldn’t be fooled easily. For all of his inability to make basic connections, he could read people, read them like a book.

Bucky needed to be clever.

If only there was-- what was the word? If only he knew where some stimulants were. He’d look tired, but he wouldn’t act it. It might be just enough to fool Sam.

He rolled over and sat up. There was probably a cache nearby. There were caches everywhere in this city. At least one of them was bound to have something.

He stood, slipped on one of the hoodies that sam had leant him, and put on his shoes. He opened the door crept out of the room, carefully transferring his weight so as to stop the floor creaking.

He opened the front door, thankful that the hinges were oiled, and jogged out to the gate, vaulting over it. He paused, staring up at the street lights. He brought his gaze down, and walked on. All he had to do was go where his feet took him.

***

Steve shuffled out of the bathroom, the pressure on his bladder relieved. He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand.

Bucky’s door was open.

He blinked.

The image didn’t change.

He walked over and peeked inside.

The blankets and doona lay scrunched up on top of the bed, but there was no sign of Bucky.

He stepped inside. “Buck?”

No sound.

Nervousness coiled in his gut as he leaned down to check under the bed. Only dust bunnies.

He looked around. The window was still closed, at least, but there was no where in this room that Bucky could hide.

He walked over into the open kitchen area, switched the light on, and started frantically opening cupboards. Maybe he liked tight spaces, and crawled into one? No. He checked under the table. Nothing.

He jogged back into and up the corridor, checking the laundry. Bucky wasn’t there.

He leaned against the doorframe, trying to get his breathing under control. Bucky had probably just gone for a walk. There was nothing overturned, no sign of struggle. Anyway, HYDRA couldn’t have broken in without him hearing. It wouldn’t be like Bucky to open the door and go quietly with them? He stopped that train of thought, walked over and knocked on Sam’s door. “Sam, we have a problem.”

A couple of seconds later, Sam opened the door, yawning. “What problem?”

“Bucky’s missing.”

Sam blinked twice, wide eyed. “Missing?”

“I don’t know where he is. I can’t find him in the house.”

Sam pushed past Steve. “Have you checked everywhere?”

“I’ve checked under the beds” he started counting it off on his fingers, ‘All the kitchen cupboards, and in the laundry.”

“Have you checked outside?”

“Not yet. I thought I should let you know what’s going on first.”

“I’ll check the back, you check the front.” Sam jogged out of the corridor.

Steve ducked into his room and grabbed his shield, and went to the front door. It opened easily. He wouldn’t have heard it if Bucky opened it.

The light from the street didn’t reach into the little front garden.

It seemed very different in the dark. The gravel path and lonely shrubbery became a warren of shadows and hiding places. He felt around the side of the door, eventually finding the switch for the outside light. It didn’t help much.

The harsh yellow light only made the shadows around the inkberry holly seem that much deeper, and the space between the bushes and the fence became a long patch of darkness.

Steve walked around the shrubs. Bucky probably couldn’t have fit himself underneath there, but it was worthwhile checking. Neither the path or the bushes seemed to be disturbed. He walked over to the fence. He saw it. A scuff mark from a boot along the reinforcing bar. “Sam!”

The reply from the back was faint. “I’m coming!”

Time stretched out as Steve waited. It couldn’t have been more than a minute, but it felt more like an hour.

Sam appeared out of the front door, breathing heavily. “Have you found him?”

“No, but I know he’s not here.” He pointed to the scuff mark. Sam peeked over Steve’s shoulder. “We know he can jump the fence.”

“So what you’re saying is our search area is now significantly wider.”

“Yeah.”

“Any clue where he would go?”

“None.”

***

He found it.

A cracked brick in a wall.

Bucky knelt down and removed it. He felt around the cache. Phone, passport, money... no stimulants. He sighed, and replaced the brick. He’d just have to keep walking.

“Hey, what are you doing?!”

Bucky whipped his head around and stood up.

“Oh, it’s you. The Soldier.” The man held his hands up placatingly. “I’m on the same side as you.”

Bucky frowned. He had a faint recollection of this man, but nothing concrete. “I’m not the Soldier.”

“Oh, damn it.” He spun on the spot, slapping his face.“You’ve been out of cryo too long.” The man paced around in a circle, thinking, rubbing his bony fingers. “Do you know who you work for?” He glanced around nervously. “Hail HYDRA?” he asked, sotto voce.

Bucky blinked. This man was an engineer. He remembered that. Something bubbled beneath the surface of conscious thought, and he tried to push it back down. “I don’t work for HYDRA anymore.”

He rocked on his heels.“You think they’re just going to let you go free when they find you? We could be a great team. I keep you in repair, and you punch all our problems. Deal?”

It came to him. This man maintained the wiping machine. Memories came roiling to the surface, and he fought to keep them down. “I. Don’t. Work. For. HYDRA. Any. More.” He took a step forward.

The engineer nearly jumped three feet in the air, and turned away. “If you want to be on your own, be my guest. Just don’t blame me when you die.” He jogged away.

Bucky collapsed against the wall. He could feel the gag between his teeth. His breathing came hard and fast. He tried to remember what Sam had said but nothing came to him as he slid down.

***

This had been the shortest time it had taken for a new cover to fit so well. Maybe it was because it was so similar to so many of her others. Maybe it was because of practice.

She was Naomi Robertson. She worked as a PA for someone in the Department of Commerce. She came from a middle class family in New York. Her family had been in America since the colonisation of Virginia. She liked to take late night strolls through the suburbs. She was brunette. She was definitely not Russian.

And it felt as true as anything.

She walked along the sidewalk, hood up, and turned into an alleyway.

It was the glint of metal that caught her eye. She turned around.

The Winter Soldier sat in the fetal position, curled up against the wall, breaths coming fast and harsh.

She squatted down next to him, ready to run away the second he moved. His right arm hung oddly. Looked like a healing dislocation. No other visible injuries.

She needed to tell Steve.

She saw the loose brick out of the corner of her eye. She pulled it free, and felt around in the hole, hoping what she found wasn’t spiders. She grabbed a phone and took it out, pressing the ‘hang up’ button. It still had charge, still had credit.

She texted Steve.

***

Steve and Sam plodded along sidewalk. How long had they been searching? Half an hour? A full hour?

“Where are we going?” Sam didn’t look up from the sidewalk.

“Towards the Smithsonian, unless you have any better ideas.”

“Why would he be going to the Smithsonian in the _middle of the night_?”

Steve was about to reply, when his phone beeped. He took it out his pocket, and looked for the new message.

“Who is it?”

Steve frowned. “I don’t recognise the number.”

“It’s probably a spammer then.”

Steve opened it anyway.

“ _found the winter soldier. alley between 21 and 23 yew st._

_-nr_

_ps dont reply. phone is dead.”_

“I think I know where he is. We better call a taxi.”

***

“Hey, Buck, it’s okay.”

Bucky opened his eyes.

Steve squatted in front of him, face open and comforting.

“Steve?” The gag in his mouth made it hard to talk, the restraints around his head made it hard to look up.

“It’s alright Bucky. Can you stand?”

He managed to stand up on shaky knees, sliding up the wall for support. He tried to still his knees. He was the Winter Soldier, the minor inconveniences of a body was not his to bear. He was a machine. Machines didn’t shake or stumble. They worked.

Steve stood up after him.

Sam leaned against the opposite wall, arms crossed. “The cab’s waiting.”

Steve gestured for him to follow, and Bucky stumbled after him. He didn’t care that he hadn’t found what he was looking for, he was just glad he had Steve.

He slid into the backseat of the cab, Steve going round the other side. Sam sat in the front passenger seat.

Bucky put his seatbelt on, and curled back up, tight as he could without putting his heels on the seat. The phantom gag still hadn’t gone away.

Sam didn’t say anything until the cab had started.. “Where are you?”

“Cab.”

“Describe it.”

Bucky shrugged, the restraints on his arm following. “It has seats.”

“Colour?”

“Grey.”

“What do they feel like?”

“I can’t tell.”

Sam huffed out an annoyed breath.

“Firm, I guess.”

***

Steve paid the driver, and they piled out of the car.  Sam walked in front and opened the gate, Bucky and Steve trailing behind.

Bucky shivered.

Steve nearly put a friendly arm around his shoulder, but thought better of it. He remembered the way Bucky flinched.

Sam unlocked the front door and they walked inside.

Sam leaned back on the back of couch, arms crossed. “Bed. Now,” he ordered.

Bucky skittered off, and disappeared behind the door.

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “We need to tighten security.”

Steve frowned. “Are you sure that’s necessary? This is probably an isolated incident.”

“It’s been three days. Three fucking days, and he’s already tried to kill you once, and tried to run away once. We don’t even know why he ran away, all we know was that when we found him he was having a flashback, and we only know where he was thanks to a mysterious benefactor.”

“She’s not that mysterious. She’s emailed me.”

“Do you know her?”

Steve shrugged and made a guilty face. “I’m not sure.”

“Then my point still stands.” Sam’s voice had gotten louder and louder throughout the conversation. “We don’t even know what triggered the flashback, or what it’s of! It’s prudent to be a little more careful.”

“We can’t treat him like HYDRA did.”

“And we won’t. We’re just going to be a little more careful and make sure he doesn’t hurt anyone, including himself. That’s the exact opposite of what HYDRA did.”

“Sam, I--”

“Do you trust me Steve? Who is the person with experience?”

Steve didn’t get to answer.

***

Bucky sat on the couch, following Sam with his eyes. “Sorry.”

Sam paused in his pacing. “You can stop apologising. I’m just thinking.” He restarted, did one more lap of the living room, then sat down on the couch opposite. “Are you going to tell me why you’re not sleeping now?”

Bucky spoke quietly, more of a growled mumble than actual words. “So I don’t kill Steve.”

“How would staying awake help?” Sam’s voice was calm. Almost too calm.

Bucky waited for the punishment to come. He squirmed into the couch. “You were there. I fell asleep, woke up, and took a bread knife to Captain America.”

“Considering what happened last night, I don’t think not sleeping is making you less likely to attack people.”

Bucky nodded and shrugged one shoulder.

“Would you describe yourself as being afraid of sleeping?”

Bucky shrugged again. “Maybe.”

“On a scale of one to one hundred, how afraid are you?”

“Fifty?”

“There’s no right or wrong answer.”

“I’m not sure.”

“That’s an okay answer. At some point today or tonight, I expect you to sleep for at least an hour. Agreed?”

Bucky nodded.

***

Bucky lay on his back and stared at the ceiling. This wasn’t working.

This would kill Steve.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that as soon as he drifted off, he’d wake up and complete his mission.

But he couldn’t stay awake forever. Even HYDRA let him sleep.

He slid out of bed. He could at least warn Steve. That’d be something. It wouldn’t be much, but at least Steve could be ready.

He walked out of his room, and into the corridor. He knocked on Steve’s door.

There was a pause. Steve opened it. He looked alert, even though he’d probably just been woken up. His brow creased in concern. “What’s going on?”

Bucky shuffled his feet. “I’m about to go to sleep.”

“Is there anything you need?”

 _Oh._ Steve hadn’t made the connection either. “I don’t want a repeat of what happened a few nights ago. Just keep an ear out, please?”

“Of course I will. You know you’re safe here, Buck.”

Bucky held his metal arm across his chest. “Could you still keep an ear out?”

“I will. Goodnight.” He closed the door.

Bucky walked back into his room, and flopped over on to the bed.

Sleep claimed him quicker than he would admit.

***

_He was cold. Ice seeped into his veins. He couldn’t feel his fingers, his hands, his arms. Couldn’t open his eyes._

_Something slid back with a metallic sound._

_Still couldn’t open his eyes. Still couldn’t move his limbs._

_People above him spoke. It took him a second to switch to their language._

_“Is he awake?”_

_“He’s thawing. Give him a minute.”_

Thawing? _Now they mentioned it, he could feel it. He was getting warmer, the ice melting off his skin. He moved his fingers experimentally. There were numb, but he felt them move. He opened his eyes._

_Large, ceiling mounted lights glared down at him, nearly blinding him. He didn’t know where he was._

_He bolted up._

_Someone held down his chest. Guns clattered as they were brought up to shoulders._

_He breathed hard. Where was he?_

_Another voice. Spoke in English. “Did they wipe him before they brought him back?”_

_The person holding him down spoke in English as well, heavily accented. “No. They didn’t have the equipment.”_

_“Wipe him.”_

_One person grabbed his right arm, the other his left, and they dragged him across the room. His feet spun uselessly against the floor, trying to get purchase._

_They dropped him on the chair._

_He recognised where he was._

_They strapped his arms down, and gave him the gag --_

“Bucky! Bucky!”

Bucky opened his eyes.

Steve squatted down beside him.

Bucky looked around. He was on the floor, and it was still dark outside.

“I heard you fall of the bed. You asked me to keep an ear out.”

Bucky rolled onto his stomach and stood up. “Thanks.”

“You okay?”

“Not sure.”

Bucky strode out of the room towards the kitchen. Steve followed him.

Bucky grabbed a glass and turned on the tap. He filled it about halfway, turned off the tap, and sculled it. The water made his throat feel a little better, but did little else for the rest of his body. His hands shook as he put the glass on the counter. He glanced over at the digital clock above the stove. He strode out of the kitchen, Steve still following. “I’ve done my hour. I’m getting my book.”

***

Sam found Bucky reading on the couch when he stumbled out into the kitchen in the morning. “Hey Buck.”

Bucky grunted.

Sam grabbed the orange juice out of the fridge. “You sleep well last night?”

“I managed two hours, and Steve is still alive.” He turned the page.

“That’s a good start. Want some juice?”

Bucky didn’t reply.

“Two hours still isn’t a full night of rest. We’ve still got a way to go--”

“Steve woke me up.”

“From what?”

Bucky hadn’t turned around to face him “Apparently I fell out of bed. I’d asked him to keep an ear out, so...” He shrugged.

Sam blinked a couple times. “Why did you fall out of bed?”

Bucky turned the page again.

Sam sighed. “We’ve already had the conversation about being evasive. Just tell me.”

“I’m not sure of the technical term.”

“I’m used to people not using the technical term.”

Bucky turned around for the first time in the conversation, resting his metal arm on the back of the couch. “Memory... dream... thing?”

“Nightmare?”

Bucky shrugged. “If that’s the word.”

Sam drunk his orange juice and wiped his mouth. “Well, what we’re already doing should help.”

***

Sam sat down on the couch opposite Bucky. “We should probably start the imaginal exposure now.” He fiddled with a small device.

Bucky leaned forward and cocked his head. “What is that?”

Sam looked up. “This? It’s a tape recorder. Records sound. I need to keep a record of what you say, and you’ll need to listen to it later.”

Bucky leaned back. “No one else will hear it?”

Sam looked up again. “No one.” He put the tape recorder next to him on the couch. “Is there any memory you want to work on?”

Bucky shook his head. That question implied he had enough of a handle on his memories to have a specific one he wanted to work on. He only had a clue who he was because he repeatedly read his own biography. And there were still the moments where he would look up from his book, and for one second, he wouldn’t remember where he was or why he was reading.

“Do you remember any of your missions?”

“Not counting the most recent, no. And it’s patchy.”

“What about the fall from the train? You remember any of that?”

Bucky cocked his head again. _You know about that?_

“It’s taught in schools, Buck. Of course I know.”

“Then you don’t need me to tell you.”

“Bucky, we’ve been over how this works. It feels terrible, and I say this from experience, but you’ve got to be straight with me, and you have to give me detail. Being evasive won’t help. Just remember to breathe.”

“We were on a HYDRA train.”

“And?”

“Me and Steve got separated. Door slammed between us. I fought some HYDRA goon, nothing special about him. Steve turned out to be up against some huge robot man.

“He opened the door, and finished off the goon. I thought we were in the clear. Then the robot fired some sort of shell. Opened up half the car. I was clinging on to a bar on the opened up wall, I’m not even sure how I grabbed it.

“Steve climbed across the wall. He tried to grab me, pull me back into the car, but the bar wasn’t meant to hold up much weight. He was only halfway across when the it sheared away from the wall.”

“What happened next?”

Bucky took a shuddering breath. “I fell.”

“Breathe with me”

Bucky tried to follow Sam’s rhythm.

“What was it like?”

“The wind actually whistled past my ears. I didn’t expect that. I wasn’t really paying too much attention. I was too surprised. Steve was just there. I expected the bar to hold, I expected my grip to to hold.”

Bucky paused to breathe again.

“It’s okay take your time.”

Bucky swallowed. “I blacked out when I hit the ground. All I got before I went under was that it hurt.

When I came to, some Russians had found me. I didn’t understand a word they said. I asked them if they knew anyone who spoke English, if they knew where Steve was. They didn’t answer.

And then they gave me to Zola.”

Sam turned off the tape recorder. “How are you feeling?”

“Shaken?”

“Well, you held up better than I expected.” He handed Bucky the tape recorder and tape. “Listen to this before you go to sleep tonight.”

 

***

Bucky lay in bed, listening to the tape. It was odd. Sam had warned him after dinner that it was normal to find listening to the tape distressing, feel what you need to feel... He felt numb. Like he was just listening to a thing that happened.

He felt numb most of the time, but this was different. There’s wasn’t even really the ghost of an emotion. There was a catch in his throat as the tape got to him hitting the ground, but that was it.

Then the tape finished. “ _And then they gave me to Zola._ ”

He fell into the memory so quickly that he didn’t register the change.

 _Thick leather straps restrained them as they did_ something _to his arm. He couldn’t feel anything but the raw ends of his shoulder. Zola loomed over him, grinning. “He’s nearly perfect.”_

Bucky gripped the sheets, trying to slow his breathing. “Blue walls, blue walls, blue walls--” He couldn’t keep the litany in his head, it spilled out of his mouth.

_Something clicked into piece, lighting up the nerves of his arm._

_He pulled himself free and threw one of the doctors across the room._

_Zola still grinned. “You shall be the new face of HYDRA.”_

Bucky squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again. It wasn’t working. “Carpet, carpet. Blue! Blue carpet, blue carpet, blue carpet. White sheets--”

_They dragged him. He was strong, but he was tired and in pain. These men were hale and hearty. They threw him on a chair, and strapped him down again. He couldn’t struggle anymore._

_Zola stood behind them. “Let us see if this new procedure works.” He wasn’t talking to Bucky anymore, no, to the faceless men standing around._

_One of the orderlies stuck his finger in Bucky’s mouth, forcing his jaw open. Bucky let them. It was easier that way._

_They stuck a gag in his mouth, and strapped something to his head._

_One of the orderlies muttered something in German. “Genau wie ein Pferd.”_

_Then everything lit up._

Steve and Sam stood over him.

Steve spoke first. “Are you alright?”

Bucky shrugged. His head pounded, and the rest of him threatened to faint, but he’d had worse.

“I’d like to say what just happened was unexpected, but...” Sam trailed off. “Do you need anything? Glass of water?”

“I should be fine, just let me get some sleep.”

Sam and Steve looked between each other.

“Okay. If you need anything just ask,” Steve said.

They left.

***

Bucky managed to stumble out of bed at the same time as Sam. “I need to talk to you.”

Sam turned around. “Hmm?”

“I think we should work on a different memory. I think this one’s more important to work on.”

“Are you sure? You seemed to be having a pretty major flashback--”

“The tape triggered the one I want to work on.”

“If what happened last night is any indication, it’s going to be much harder work.”

“But it’s going to be much more useful work.”

***

The session ended.

Bucky was thankful for that. He slowly uncurled himself from the couch, and slid down it.

Sam busied himself with the kettle. “Like a hot chocolate?”

“Huh?”

Sam glanced over his shoulder. “You look like someone who could do with some comfort food. Or drink.”

Bucky shrugged. “Sure.” He made his way to the table, and sat down. His rubbed his right temple with his flesh hand. It did little to alleviate the ache behind his eyes, but at least it was something.

Sam placed a mug in front of him.

Bucky took it and held it in front of his face. He took a little sip. It burned his tongue, but he didn’t care. It was warm, and covered the phantom taste of the rubber gag.

Steve stuck his head out of the corridor door. “Can I come out now?”

Sam nodded, and sat down on Bucky’s right. He inclined his head toward the kitchen. “Kettle’s been boiled.”

Steve walked out and sat down. “How are you feeling?”

Bucky shrugged. “I’ve felt worse, felt better.”

Steve nodded.

Sam stood up. “I should probably start on the laundry while I remember.”

Steve watched Sam walk away, then turned back to Bucky. “I’m glad to see you’re improving. You may not be noticing it, but you are.”

Bucky shrugged with one shoulder, and took another sip.

“I just wanted to tell you that if you end up being a different person than the one I remember after this, I’m okay with that. Even if that different person isn’t my friend.”

“Of course I’m going to stay your friend, you little punk.” There was a pause as Bucky realised what he just said. His eyes widened. “Where did that come from?” he said to himself.

Steve started giggling. “Well, I’m glad you are, you jerk.”

Bucky started giggling too. He wasn’t sure how this was funny, but Steve’s laugh was infectious, and hey, this was probably quite funny.

“I’m sorry,” Steve said, trying to stifle his giggle, “that was the silliest expression I’ve ever seen. The look on your face--” The giggles took over again.

“We used to say that all the time, didn’t we?”

“Yeah.”

Sam re-emerged, and looked between them.

They laughed louder.

“Of course the two resident super soldiers are giggling like schoolgirls. I’m not sure why I thought anything else would happen.”

Bucky laughed so hard he fell off his chair.

 

***

Rumlow woke up.

Someone sat in the plastic hospital chair beside him.

He would’ve flinched, if he could actually move. “Who are you?”

“Pierce’s successor.”

Rumlow tried to sit up, but the pain stopped him. At least the meds were good. “What makes you his successor?”

“I have the hard drive. Before you ask: yes, SHIELD won; yes, you are in a SHIELD hospital; no, HYDRA isn’t dead, and what SHIELD doesn’t know will definitely hurt it.” He grinned wolfishly.

Rumlow blinked a couple of times as it sunk in. The disadvantage of the good meds was that they made his head swim. Not good if you were being given orders. He wanted to rip the IV out of his arm. Order only came through pain. But a ripped IV would send nurses running. He needed privacy more than a clear head. “Why are you telling me this?”

“I have a mission for you. We’ve lost track of the Asset. We thought he fell into the Potomac, but one of our engineers spotted him in this city. We need a team leader.”

“And you want me.”

“Yes.”

“I’m in SHIELD custody.”

“A breakout has been arranged for when you recover. I suggest you step to it.”

“Yessir...” The words slurred as he fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Real life is getting a bit busy, so the nest chapter may take a little longer to arrive. But it should only be an extra week or so, no too long.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! There was one delay I accounted for (the musical production I was in), but then my immune sustem packed it it, which was unaccounted for. Sorry!

It happened over weeks.

***

Sam was making breakfast when Bucky stumbled out of the corridor.

Bucky blinked a couple of times, and spun in a little circle. “It’s light out.”

“What about it?”

Bucky looked down and to the left. “It’s light out. I went to sleep, and when I woke up, it was light out.” He grinned, awkward and lopsided.

Sam smiled back.

***

Steve looked up from his StarkPad to see Bucky laying down, reading, on the couch opposite to him.

There wasn’t the tension that used to be there. Steve could still see it, hiding under the surface, but it wasn’t as obvious. He wasn’t quite as much of a feral cat, ready to spring at anything that came to close.

Maybe if he didn’t know Bucky so well, he wouldn’t have noticed it. Maybe Bucky would actually look completely relaxed.

***

Bucky held the book out. “I should probably return this too you.”

“Why?” asked Steve.

Bucky shrugged. “It’s your book, and I know it back to front now.”

Steve pushed it back. “You seem to need more than me. It’s yours now.”

Bucky looked up at Steve, down at the book, and back at Steve, confused. “I don’t remember being given things. At least not to keep.”

Steve made that sad expression he got whenever Bucky acted less like the man he knew, and more like the man HYDRA had made him. He wished Steve would stop making it, but he didn’t think Steve knew he was doing it. “Then this’ll be a first,” Steve said.

***

Rumlow wheeled his wheelchair up to the table. He twitched as another wave of itchiness washed over him. “Does anyone have any idea where the Soldier might be?”

The room was filled with a rag tag mix of whoever HYDRA had managed to grab before SHIELD found them. At least a couple of them were STRIKE, though.

“He’d probably be working under his most recent mission parameters.”

Rumlow frowned. “But in our last sighting of him, he said that he didn’t work for HYDRA anymore.”

“We don’t know entirely what being out of cryo too long does for him. His missions are fairly strong programming.”

“So we just find Steve Rogers and wait?”

“If those are your orders, sir.”

Rumlow shook his head. “Get evidence he knows where the asset is. Check his apartment first. I don’t think our Captain” --Rumlow spat the word-- “is subtle enough to rent it under someone else’s name.”

***

“Hey, Buck, can I talk with you a second?”

Bucky turned around. “Yes?”

“Don’t get this wrong, you’ve definitely got a long way to go, but I don’t think you’re a danger to Steve anymore. I’ll have to run this by Steve, but I think you should go back to crashing at his apartment.”

Bucky frowned. “But how will I get to you?”

“If they don’t kick me to the curb, I’ll be at the VA. If they do, I’ll be here. I have room in my schedule for you.”

Bucky nodded. He didn’t really have any sensible objections, just a deep desire to keep things the same, he’d just gotten used to this-- But Steve’s apartment probably wouldn’t be much different. It’d be smaller, but he’d still be able to read, sit around. The only difference would be how close Sam was. But he could cope with that. Probably.

***

Steve and Bucky took a bus back to his apartment. Bucky looked out the window, watching the buildings go past. It felt odd being in the window seat, no easy escape, but he ignored the feeling. He was safe. Steve had his shield hidden in a duffel bag, and if it came to it, Bucky could break open the window. It wasn’t that strong.

The bus pulled to a halt.

Steve stood up. “This is our stop.”

As they walked down the aisle, Bucky pulled his metal arm further into his over long jacket. No one seemed to be paying much attention.

Steve thanked the driver, and they stepped off onto the curb.

They walked to Steve’s apartment in silence. It was a comfortable silence though. Bucky was too busy learning the route to the apartment, and Steve didn’t feel the need to fill the quiet with his talking.

Bucky trotted up the stairs behind Steve, glad to be on semi-familiar territory.

Steve unlocked the door. “Oh--”

Bucky pushed Steve aside, and looked through the door.

Someone had cleared all the shelves, leaving the books and knick-knacks in a pile next to them. The couch had been pushed backwards and tipped over. Every other piece of furniture too. Whoever had done this had been methodical.

Bucky stepped forward. He only knew a few people that methodical...

Steve pulled out his phone. “I should probably call the landlord.” He punched in the number, and held the phone up to his ear. “Mrs Bailey? It’s Steve. Has there been any break ins recently?”

Bucky heard the buzz of Mrs Bailey speaking over the phone, but couldn’t make out the words. Not that it would matter anyway. He waitedfor whoever HYDRA had sent to jump out of their hiding places. None of the furniture seemed to have been moved to make a hiding spot, but that didn’t mean there weren’t any.

“Anyone you didn’t know have a key to my apartment?”

More buzzing.

“Okay. Thank you.” Steve hung up and sighed. “She doesn’t know. I should call the police. This might be a too old to investigate, but you never know.”

“No point.” He paced around, watching.

“Huh?”

“Was there any trace of me when I broke in?”

“Well, no, but we didn’t really check--”

“They’re not going to get sloppy now.” He knelt down next to bookshelf. “And by the looks of this dust, this happened weeks ago. They’ve probably moved on by now.”

Steve replaced his phone in his pocket. “We probably shouldn’t get them involved in HYDRA business anyway.” He sighed. “Let’s get the furniture back in place.”

Bucky rolled his shoulders, and started putting the books back on the bookshelves. He’d been ready for a fight. Adrenaline had already started coursing through his veins. He’d been ready to shatter the skulls of whatever HYDRA goons had been hiding. This was too much of an anti climax.

Not much he could do about it though.

***

The phone rang five minutes later.

Steve finished pulling the couch over to its original position, went over to the kitchen, and answered it. “Hello?”

“It’s Sam. I was wondering if you guys had got back okay.”

 _Bugged phone._ “Could I call you back in a sec? Just give me a couple of minutes.”

“Okay, sure--”

Steve hung up and walked to the door.

Bucky turned around from the bookshelf. “Where are you going?”

“Taking a call. I’ll be back in a minute.”

He opened the door and took the steps two at a time. He was halfway down the street when he took the phone out of his pocket and called Sam. “Sorry about that.”

“What was that about?”

“The apartment got broken into. I wanted to be careful, in case there were bugs.”

“You sure you’re safe out there?”

“According to Bucky, it looked like the break in a happened a week or two ago. HYDRA’s long gone.”

“If it heats up too much, you’re free to come back, you know that?”

“I wouldn’t want to put you at risk.”

“Like the last time you crashed at mine was perfectly safe. But the offer’s there if you need it.”

“Thanks.”

“How’s Bucky doing?”

“Nothing too out of the ordinary. He seemed a bit tense when we found out about the break in, but he seems calm enough.”

“I’ll see him tomorrow anyway. I can ask about it then. Anything else?”

“Nothing else I can think of now. I’ll see you around.”

“See you too.” Sam hung up.

***

Rumlow fiddled with his pen, twirling it around his fingers. “So the apartment was a bust.” He stared at the map.

“They might just be somewhere else.”

Rumlow looked up from underneath his brow at them. Dr Hellyer, medical. Not STRIKE. “Thank you for that shocking and original insight.” He looked around the room. “Any better ideas?”

“What about that ally of Captain Rogers?” said Peters. (At least she was STRIKE.)

“Natasha Romanov? Do you have a death wish?”

“Not Mrs Romanov, his other ally, the black guy.”

Hellyer interrupted. “Do we know who he is?”

Peters glared at her, and then spoke again. “He had a winged jet pack. Looked very much like a FALCON wingpack. Track down the people that were part of the FALCON program, and we’ve narrowed it down significantly.”

Rumlow pointed his pen at her. “Get on it. Dr Hellyer, help her.”

***

Bucky took the bus to the VA the next day.

He stepped off the bus and into the building, trying to rub the sleep from his eyes.

The receptionist looked up at him. “Hello?”

Bucky turned to face her. “Hello?”

“Is there anything I can help you with?”

He blinked a couple times, trying to work out how to respond. “I’m here to see Sam?”

“Wilson?”

Bucky shrugged. “Maybe?”

“What name is your appointment under?”

“Barnes, I think.”

She stared at the screen, before turning away from it and smiling. “Sam will be out to see you in about ten minutes. Feel free to have a seat.”

Bucky nodded, and walked backwards to one of the chairs. He sat down gingerly.

A little while later, Sam came out. He gestured at Bucky. “Follow me.”

Bucky stood up a followed. Sam took him down a narrow corridor.

He opened a door and held it, letting Bucky go in first.

Bucky stepped in. It was a small room, one desk, two chairs facing each other. Bucky eased himself into the one furthest from the desk, and angled it so it faced the door a little more.

Sam pulled the door shut. “I heard about the break in. Everything alright?”

Bucky shrugged, “We’ve moved all the furniture back, and nothing seems to be missing.”

Sam sat down. “That’s not what I meant. How are you feeling about it?”

Bucky frowned. “I’m not pleased about it, if that’s what you mean.”

“Didn’t think so. Do you feel anxious, angry, whatever, about it?”

“I want to bash their heads, but I wanted to do that before the break in anyway.”

***

Peters threw a printout onto the desk. It skidded to a halt in front of Rumlow.

He looked up at her. “What have you found?”

“There’s only one member of the FALCON program living in DC right now. He also happens to be a dead ringer for Cap’s ally.”

Rumlow glanced down at the pages. The photographs on them were small and black and white, but the man staring down the barrel of the camera was definitely the man he fought in the Triskelion.

Peters spoke again. “I also took the liberty of looking up his name in the white pages. I printed out his address on the bottom of the page.”

“Well, why don’t we pay him a visit?”

***

The first thing Sam noticed was the unfamiliar cars parked on his street. They were fleet cars, shiny black SUVs and minivans, all parked up along the nature strip. Mud caked up along the wheels and sides. They obviously hadn’t seen a car wash in awhile.

 _Maybe one of the neighbours is having a party._ He didn’t quite believe it though. Who would take a fleet car to a party? The FBI?

He parked his car in the driveway, and opened the gate. Maybe things were a little off, but they probably weren’t centred on him.

Again, he didn’t quite believe it.

He took his keys out, and unlocked the door. He took the key out and tried to open it. It stuck fast. He frowned, put key back in, and turned.

The door clicked open. Sam’s frown deepened. It would have done that only if--

The door had been unlocked in the first place.

He took his phone out of his pocket and called Steve. “Steve?”

“Yes?”

“Okay, something a bit weird is going on--”

“Do you need me to come over?”

“No, no. Look, I think someone else is in my house. I’m just going to put this phone in my pocket, I’m going to walk in, and you’ll hear if anything’s going wrong.”

“You sure you don’t want me to come over?’

“I would like to get into my house. It’s probably nothing anyway. Just forgot to lock the door on the way out or something. Just come over if it sounds like something bad’s happening.”

Steve sounded resigned. “Sure.”

“Thanks, I owe you one.”

Steve’s reply was cut off by Sam stuffing the phone in his pocket. He took a steadying breath, and opened the door.

There were people in his living room.

Two of them stood around the couch, guns to their chests, looking out of place in civilian clothes.

The third had shoved the coffee table out of the way to make room for his wheelchair. Bandages and splints wound up his limbs, to the point that Sam wondered if there was any bit of him uninjured. He still wore his STRIKE uniform, with the name tape reading ‘Rumlow.’ He grinned. “Good to see you, Sam Wilson.”

“Get out of my house before I call the cops.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

The two other HYDRA people brought up their guns.

Sam put his hands in the air.

“Let’s get this over with quickly. What’s in your pocket?”

“Nothing.”

Rumlow raised and eyebrow. “Hand it over.”

Sam slowly reached into his pocket, trying not to give them any reason to shoot. He took the phone out just as slowly, and leaned over to pass it to Rumlow. He didn’t need to look, he could feel the guns tracking him.

Rumlow grabbed it, and cocked his head. “Calling Cap, are we?” He held the phone up to his ear. “Hello?”

***

Steve grabbed his shield, and tried to make it out the door.

Bucky followed him like a confused puppy.

“Stay here.”

Bucky stopped in his tracks. He looked worried.

Steve had his foot out the door. “I’ve got under control. I’ll be back soon. Just stay here.” He got himself all the way out, and closed the door.

He took the stairs two at a time.

“Hello?”

The words in his ear stopped him. “Who is this?”

“It’s good to hear from you, Cap.”

“Rumlow.”

“We’re just having a little chat with your friend. We don’t want to hurt him. We just want to know where the asset is.”

Steve lied. “I don’t know.”

“You honestly think I’d believe that.” Steve heard Rumlow turn his head away from the phone. “Grab him.”

“No!” He tried to come up with something convincing, something that would buy them time. “He was with us for a bit. Then he left. Said something about needing to track down some people. We tried looking for him, but we couldn’t find him.”

Rumlow grunted. “Let go of him.” Something tumbled to the floor. “Thank you for your co-operation.” Rumlow hung up.

Steve took the phone off his ear, and hissed between his teeth. “Damn it!” He punched Sam’s number in a again, and put it back to his.

The dial tone seemed to stretch on forever.

Sam answered the phone. “Steve?”

Steve sighed. “Oh, thank goodness, they haven't kidnapped you. Are you alright?”

“I’m shaken, but at least I’m not hurt.”

“That’s good. Do you need me to come over?”

“Shouldn’t need to. They’re driving away anyway.”

“This is starting to get unsafe. We might need to get out of DC.”

“I think I’m going to wait for HYDRA’s next move, personally,” Sam said. “We might have actually thrown them off.”

“We might not know their next move until it’s too late.”

***

Bucky sat on the couch, arms crossed. “I don’t want to leave.”

“And we might not have to. But it is a possibility.”

“I don’t want to leave. I just got used to it here.”

Steve sighed. It seemed the years hadn’t made Bucky any less stubborn. “HYDRA is looking for you, and they are looking for you here. We need to be careful.”

Bucky clenched his jaw. “I can deal with HYDRA.”

“But Sam can’t. He’s not as strong as either of us. We might have to leave for his sake.”

“ _We_ can deal with HYDRA.” Bucky glared at him from under his fringe.

Steve sighed. _Turns out that he’s become more stubborn_. “We’ll come back to this later.”

***

Bucky lay down on his bed, staring at the ceiling. Sam definitely couldn’t deal with HYDRA. Steve had broken the spine of the organisation, but he didn’t seem to be willing to clean up the fingers.

He could do it, maybe. He _knew_ HYDRA. HYDRA had wormed itself into his bones, his mind. In some ways, he knew it better than he knew Steve.

He probably couldn’t mop up every HYDRA cell, but he could... limit them.

He was a weapon. He knew how to do clean up.

His first step, of course, would be to find the cell that had been causing them problems.

He stood up out of bed. He nearly got out into the corridor, when he remembered. Steve would notice. He turned around, trying to find a way to make it look like he hadn’t left. He settled for artfully arranging the pillows and doonas. It felt too low tech, to simple to work, but it was the best he had access to.

He padded out into the corridor, into the living room, and out of front door. He walked down the stairs, and paused when he reached the street. Where would HYDRA be? He started walking again. His feet would know. He just needed clear his head, and he would walk there.

The moon had risen fully when he found himself stopping in front of a row house. It didn’t seem much different from its neighbours, but this was the one. He knew it.

He walked up the stairs to the front door, and twisted the handle. It turned easily.

He padded inside. It was spartan, with a threadbare couch, small kitchen table, a few plastic bucket chairs. The inside felt even more familiar than the outside.

His gut knotted itself, but he tried to ignore it.

Something sat on the kitchen table.

He walked over to it.

It was a sheet of paper, filled with photographs, addresses, personal information, all of one man. Sam Wilson.

Bucky didn’t quite know how they got all that information, but it was all the evidence he needed. This house had HYDRA in it, and it was the same cell that broke into Sam Wilson’s house.

He crumpled and tore the paper with his left hand. (The metal left no fingerprints.)

A noise came from upstairs.

He was out the door and walking briskly down the street before he could really think about it. If they found him, they’d wipe him again. He’d lose Steve. He couldn’t let that happen.

He wasn’t sure he could escape again.

_He was on a mission, and he left._

He tried to shake his head free of the memories, focus on the pounding of his feet against the pavement.

_He didn’t know why he left. He had completed his mission? But he never left after completing a mission before. Or maybe he had._

_All he knew is he needed to be somewhere else. Something about the arc of blood struck him as wrong._

_But killing wasn’t wrong? Pierce said it was right. Pierce was always right. Even when his orders seemed strange. Even when he said ‘one more time’ and it wasn’t. (He shouldn’t have been able to remember that. Or should he?)_

Bucky tried to ignore it. What was happening wasn’t like that. He _had_ escaped. Pierce was dead. He stole a glance behind himself.

_He stole a glance behind himself._

_They were following him. He walked faster, but he could hear them gaining on him._

_He couldn’t get caught. He’d be punished._

_He couldn’t turn around and walk towards them. They wouldn’t punish him as bad if he just turned around._

Bucky went up the stairs two at a time, opened the door to Steve’s apartment, and ran in. He slammed the door and locked it as quickly as he could, getting his fingers tangled a couple of times. He sat down on the couch, watching the front door.

HYDRA wasn’t following him. He couldn’t convince himself of it though.

A minute later, someone came up behind him out of the internal corridor.

He jumped up and spun around.

Steve took a step back. “Sorry.”

Bucky collapsed back onto the couch and put his head between his knees. He tried to bring his breathing under control. “Keyed up. Nightmare.”

“Do you want some warm milk or something?”

He shook his head.

Steve leaned on the couch. “You know, when things quietened down enough, I got the landlords permission, and I improved the locks.”

Bucky nodded. That was at least vaguely comforting.

***

Bucky stumbled into Sam’s office, and collapsed onto a chair. He rubbed his eyes.

“Everything alright? You look like death warmed up,” Sam said.

Bucky shrugged.

“It’s not unusual for these things to be a little bit two steps forward, one back.”

Bucky nodded. He paused for a second, and cocked his head. “Who are you again?”

Sam frowned. This was weird. They’d already fixed the memory problem. Though maybe that was just how it appeared. “I’m Sam Wilson, remember?”

Bucky blinked twice, then shook his head like a wet dog. “Sorry. Memory’s been playing tricks on me lately.”

“How bad has it been?”

Bucky shrugged again. “I haven’t tried to hurt Steve, at least.”

***

Steve shuffled out of the bedroom, playing with a glass. His throat felt dry, and he’d already drunk glass of water he’d left beside his bedside table. He went over to the kitchen, and filled it at the tap.

Bucky opened the front  door.

Steve turned around to see him. “Hello?” It was a stupid thing to say, but it was what came out of his mouth.

Bucky looked like a deer caught in the headlights, for lack of a better term.

“Everything alright?” Steve looked him over. He didn’t look _too_ bad, tired and strung out, yes, but always looked tired and strung out. At least during this past week or so. But he didn’t seem injured, that was the main thing.

Eventually, Bucky nodded.

“That’s good.” But it didn’t sit right with Steve. Even if Bucky was physically fine, why was he out in the middle of the night?  “What were you doing?”

Bucky blinked a couple of times. “Walking.”

He’d never known Bucky to go out walking late at night, at least back in Brooklyn, but maybe he found it calmed him down? He needed calming. Steve suppressed the thought that it might be a HYDRA impulse. Even if it was, it was still alright for Bucky to go for a walk, right? “Okay. Need anything?”

Bucky shook his head and walked over to his bedroom.

***

Rumlow paced around the room. Or rather, the chair bound equivalent. It didn’t seem to be as intimidating as normal pacing though. Which was a pity. “Okay, either one of you is sneaking around, moving all the furniture and hiding all the intel; or we are terrible at guard duty, and somehow I doubt it is the former.”

Dr Hellyer cowered, the STRIKE people ranged from seeming mildly anxious, to bored out of there minds.

Rumlow wheeled closer to the table, and smacked his fist into the table in front of Long, who looked like he was about to fall asleep. “This is serious!”

Long jumped out of his chair, and looked sheepish as he sat back down. “Sorry sir.”

Rumlow resumed his pacing. “Do we need to go over basic patrolling? Have you got cobwebs stuck in your heads?”

Peters interrupted. “Sir--”

“Yes?”

“Perhaps we have someone really good on our trail.”

“Such as?”

Peters shrugged. “Natasha Romanov?”

Rumlow glared at her. “Really? I expected better from you, Peters. Do you think someone as good as her would stay in the city she broker her cover in? Not even a novice would do that.”

“She might be able to get away with it, though.”

***

It was a strange feeling, blinking and completely forgetting where you were.

The Winter Soldier found himself sitting on a couch. He looked around. Nothing looked familiar. It was an apartment, open plan, but with a few bits of hard cover here in there.

He could hear someone walking.

He stood up ready to defend himself.

A blond man walked in the room, carrying a mug of something.

The Winter Soldier tried to catergorise him. _Mission?_

The blond man smiled. “Hey, Buck.”

He fell back into himself with a bang. He collapsed backward on to the couch. His lungs stopped working as they should. He shook his head. That was _Steve,_ his best friend, he was Bucky--

Steve broke him out of his thoughts. “You alright?”

Bucky nodded. He didn’t need to worry Steve.

He hadn’t reverted to being the Soldier in some time though. This was... odd. Things had been going well until a couple of weeks ago...

It came to him. A couple of weeks ago was when he started tracking down HYDRA. Maybe there was something in the safe house that was messing with him. Maybe they’d arranged it so there was some trigger laying around to bring him back. Maybe it was just random, his own memory being his enemy.

He buried his face in his hands. He needed to bring down HYDRA, not go running back to them! He couldn’t stop now, he needed them gone, he couldn’t face knowing where they were and not getting rid of them. But he couldn’t face being the Soldier again. He made a frustrated noise.

“Are you sure you’re fine?”

Bucky nodded again.

Steve sat down on the couch next to him. “I’m just going to hang around here until you stop pretending you’re fine.”

“I am fine.”

“You just buried your face in your hands and screamed.”

Bucky shrugged and dropped his hands. “Not much you can do.” _I’ll just have to get rid of HYDRA quicker._

***

Peters continued her patrol, Glock loaded and pointed to the ground. She deliberately varied her route. Whoever was tracking them obviously knew the standard patrol pattern.

No point making it easy for them.

A street light outside fizzed and died.

Peters ignored it. Street lights may not have broken like that all the time, but it wasn’t _that_ unusual. It wasn’t a sign. Merely thinking it was something more was probably just her paranoia getting to her. Yeah, it was just paranoia. You didn’t get into HYDRA without having eyes on your back, and sometimes that meant false alarms.

A light inside the house fizzed out.  

She jogged into the room with it, and that was where she saw him.

He was silhouetted, but she could see he was muscled,and just a bit under six foot.

She bought her gun up.

He shot over to the window faster than she could move the muzzle, and broke the window frame off the wall. He jumped out of the window.

She fired. It went over his head.

She ran over to the window and looked out of it.

He was gone. No trace. This was a near empty street, there was no cover or hidey holes, and he’d just... gone.

It slowly dawned on her. There was just one person who could do that.

She walked as fast as she could to Rumlow’s room. This was bad. This was bad, bad, bad.


	5. Chapter 5

Steve walked into the living room, carrying a pile of sheets in his arms. “Hey, Buck?”

Bucky looked up from his book.

“Do you mind if I change your sheets?”

Bucky shook his head.

Steve walked over to Bucky’s room. He dumped the linen in a corner of the room, and started stripping the bed. He noticed something.

A manilla folder poked out from under the bed.

Steve didn’t want to snoop, but a manilla folder? Where did Bucky even get that, and why was he keeping it under his bed? He picked it up and opened it.

It was filled with HYDRA intelligence: locations of safe houses, code signals, the names and addresses of HYDRA enemies, personnel files, everything.

He kneeled down and looked under the bed.

A pile of the folders squatted under the bed.

Steve shoved the folder in his hands back under his bed, and started making the bed.

Bucky wasn’t working for HYDRA, he couldn’t be. But the files seemed to show otherwise. But maybe he was collecting evidence. HYDRA wouldn’t let him take their files, would they? HYDRA was collapsing, though. Maybe emergency measures meant the Winter Soldier got to keep his intel wherever he liked.

He grabbed the dirty sheets and walked out to the laundry. He needed to talk to Sam. He may not have much experience, but two heads had to be better than one.

He went back to the living room. “I’m just going for a walk.”

Bucky nodded.

Steve walked out the door, and jogged down the stairs. Once he’d put a distance between himself and the building, he called Sam.

Sam answered. “What is it?”

“I found a bunch of HYDRA files under Bucky’s bed.”

“What sort of files?”

“It’s a mix, honestly. Some about HYDRA, some about it’s enemies.”

“Does this mean--”

“Bucky’s not a mole.” It flew out of Steve’s mouth before he could stop it. “At least, I don’t think he is. Looking at the files Natasha gave us, he was pretty much exclusively an assassin.”

“HYDRA’s collapsing though.”

“Still don’t think HYDRA would send him. He can’t be faking all his problems, and I think they would stop him from being a reliable... anything, really.”

“Then what else could it be?”

Steve flopped down on a bus stop bench. “I don’t know. I’d like to think he’s gathering evidence, or something, but--” He sighed.

“I’d suggest talking to him, but considering the circumstances...”

“I’ll work something out.”

***

Steve sat on the couch, scrolling through his email history, trying to find some clue on how to contact ‘nr.’ He could make a good guess at who it was, he only knew one person with those initials. But knowing who he was looking for didn’t make any easier to find her.

He frown deepened, and he put the StarkPad down, and picked up his mobile phone. This wasn’t going to work. This was stupid. She’d almost certainly changed her mobile number. But he didn’t have any better idea. He went into his contacts, and selected Natasha’s number. He held the phone up to his ear.

He expected to get a ‘this number is no longer available’ almost immediately. He didn’t. It dialled. He expected it, after a few rings, to give that message. It didn’t.

Natasha answered after a few seconds. “Steve?”

“Nat?”

He could hear her smile on the other end of the line. “Who else did you expect? You called my number.”

“I honestly expected you to have thrown the phone out by now.”

“What, and not be able to help the Winter Soldier tried kill you?”

“Bucky. His name is Bucky.”

“He can be both. I’m both Natasha and the Black Widow.”

“Anyway, I need to ask a favour.”

“What sort of favour?”

“It’s about Bucky. I found HYDRA files under his bed. I don’t want to think he’s a mole--”

“I kept KGB files close. Information is power. But I also thought of running back about as often, and the Soldier’s programming is much deeper.”

Steve grimaced. “I already told you, his name is Bucky. This is not my preference, it is his,”

“--Bucky’s programming is much deeper.”

“Thank you. I need to talk to him about this, but Sam and I need back up.”

“If he is a mole, do you really think he’s going to tell the truth when we confront him.”

“Do you think he’s going to let us live if he’s a mole?”

“Touché. So, you just want someone else on hand in case he turns violent.”

“You also probably have a better understanding of this sort of situation than either me or Sam, but mostly that, yes.”

“Good thing I stayed in DC then.”

“You stayed in DC? All your covers are blown!”

“Well then I’m a fool. When are you planning on doing this intervention?”

***

Bucky watched Steve and Sam.

Sam leaned on the kitchen counter, sipping hot chocolate and watching the muted nature program on television.

Steve sketched on the couch, strokes fast and hard.

They were tense. Bucky could see it in the curl of their fingers, the set of their shoulders. Maybe he was imagining it, but he didn’t think he was. They were waiting. Even Sam, he usually seemed to radiate calm, looked like he was ready to spring at the slightest thing.

It was the way HYDRA acted around him.

Bucky pushed down that thought. He’d been spending too long investigating. His nerves after getting caught hadn’t died down. Steve and Sam didn’t think of him the same way. They didn’t act around him the same way.

Steve looked up from his sketchbook. “You remember Nat? Redhead, killer kick?”

“She was fighting HYDRA with you?”

“That’s her. She’s going to be coming over in a little while. Sorry, I forgot to tell you.”

Bucky shrugged. “It’s okay.” The comment put him even more on edge. Steve didn’t just forget to tell him things. Especially not about things like people coming over.

There was a knock on the door.

Steve levered himself up from the couch. “That’ll be her.” He opened the front door, and Nat stepped in.

She stayed back just in front of the door, even when Steve tried to lead her forwards.

He went back to the couch.

Sam walked out of the kitchen, and leaned on the doorway between it and the living room.

They surrounded him, wall on his left, Nat in front of him, Sam and Steve on his right.

Bucky caught the glint of Steve’s shield behind the couch.

This couldn’t be deliberate. Sam and Steve wouldn’t surround him deliberately, would they?

“We need to talk, Bucky. I didn’t mean to snoop, but I found HYDRA files under the bed.”

“Is this what this is about?” Bucky pointed around the circle.

“We weren’t sure how you’d react.”

“Break the circle.”

“Bucky, it’s for--”

Nat stepped away from the door, and sat on the couch, a polite distance from Bucky.

He was still surrounded on both sides, but he had a clear run to the front door, assuming Nat didn’t stop him.

He leaned back. At least he wasn’t penned in a circle.

“Are you willing to talk now?” Steve asked.

“I was gathering evidence. I worked out where their base was, but I wanted find out what they’d done that I didn’t know about and prove it.”

“He’s not lying,” Nat said.

“Bucky, you don’t need to find out what they’re doing,” Steve said.

Sam nodded. “It’s not your responsibility.”

“But it is! I knew how to find them, and that means I’ve got to find out about them. So they don’t do it again.” He left the ‘it’ unspecified. He didn’t even know what he meant by it, but he didn’t care. He had to stop them from doing it again. Any of it. All of it.

Nat turned to him. “May I see the files?”

Bucky nodded and stood up. He walked over to his room, got them out from under the bed, walked back, and handed them to Nat.

She flicked through them, looking at each page. “This is more than enough to prove their identity, and their address. I’m pretty sure the police would kill to get these.” She looked up from the files. “Though I don’t think that would be necessary for them?”

Bucky shrugged and hung his head. “I don’t really have any ideas of what to do with them. If you want to give them to the police, I don’t care.”

“In that case, are you going to stop now? You’ve been doing a number on yourself,” Sam said.

“You noticed that?”

“It wasn’t exactly subtle.”

“I was trying to do it quickly. So I didn’t go back.”

“Then maybe this is a good reason to stop.”

***

Bucky flopped down on the couch, watching the first channel that came up on the television. Steve had called to tell him he’d been held up, and to Bucky’s surprise, there was a limit to how much he could read of his own biography.

The news came on, and he listened to it as it droned on about this or that. Then a news story came on that actually interested him.

The newsreader stared straight at the camera as a picture  of Rumlow with his hands behind his head, and the caption ‘HYDRA RAID’ swam on to the screen.

“This evening, reports have come in that the Metropolitan Police have raided a suspected HYDRA base, due to an anonymous tip off. Ten people have been charged with crimes ranging from espionage to terrorism, and are not eligible for bail.”

The camera switched to a man standing outside, microphones right up in his face. A strapline swung into view, saying ‘John Engelson, Metropolitan Police Commisioner.’ “Normally this would be SHIELD’s job, but with them gone, we have to look after ourselves more. We’re lucky that this went so well, and we’re even luckier to have gotten the tip. This only shows the importance of anonymous tips to our work--” He went on, but Bucky wasn’t paying any more attention.

He felt... happy? He couldn’t quite capture the word for the feeling. It was definitely positive, and he could vaguely remember experiencing it, but he couldn’t place it. He smiled anyway. Sometimes getting the right word didn’t matter.

Steve opened the front door and walked in.

Bucky turned his head to face him. “Is this what doing good feels like?”

Steve smiled back. “Probably.”

***

Bucky sat in Sam’s office.

“I’m kind of surprised,” Sam said.

Bucky cocked his head. “How so?”

“I expected this to take longer, especially with your setback, and especially considering how complex your case is. But you pretty functional now.” He shrugged and dipped his head to the side. “You’ll always have to work around your PTSD, and I wouldn’t be surprised if you needed more therapy later, but right now, I don’t think any more.”

“I don’t need to come back next week?”

“You won’t need to come back for a long time, hopefully. Don’t act so shocked, you’ve come a long way. You’ve gotten much better at dealing with flashbacks; and you have both nightmares and those a lot less often, and you’ve regained more memories than we could have hoped for really. I’m quite comfortable saying you’re done here.”

“Should I leave now?”

Sam nodded. “Probably.”

Bucky stood up and walked out. He felt odd, unmoored. But all that Sam had said was true, and if he thought that meant he was healthy, well, he was the expert.

And as he walked out the main doors, it felt good to know he wasn’t the Soldier anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
